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SUNDAY-SCHOOL SPEAKER: 



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Copy 1 



COMPRISING PIECES SOITABIE FOB 



iBiay-Si* wk i Festivals. 



COLLECTED AND ARRANGED BY 



O. AUGUSTA CHENEY. 






819 WASHINGTON 

BOSTON. 



Price, oO cts. 



| LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. I 

I • -"* 1 S J -Jut 



! UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.! 



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THE 



SUNDAY-SCHOOL SPEAKEE: 



C05IFRISING PIECES SUITABLE FOB 



SUNDAY-SCHOOL CONCERTS AND FESTIVALS. 



COLLECTED AND ARRANGED BY 



O. AUGUSTA CHENEY. 




O 



LOEING, Publisher, 

319 Washington Street, 
BOSTON. 



^ 



c-\- 



^ 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by 

A. K. LORING, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Masachusetts. 



Rockwell & Rollins, Printers and Stereotypers, 
122 Washington Street, Boston. 



THE MEMORY OF 

MRS. P. R. WOODBURY, 

Under whose direction many of the pieces contained in this collection were 

- 

selected and prepared for use in the Sunday School, 

JJt in safclg bebicattir 

BY 03TE WHO HAS NOT CEASED TO 
LAMENT HER LOSS. 



PREFACE 



So much difficulty is experienced by Sunday School Superin- 
tendents and Teachers in finding pieces suitable to be spoken at 
Sunday School Concerts that I have been induced to form the 
collection which is presented in this little volume. It has been 
drawn from a wide variety of sources, and the pieces have near- 
ly all been used with acceptance on similar occasions. Where- 
ever the author's name has been ascertained due credit has been 
given. 

I can hardly hope that the present collection will be found ful- 
ly adequate or complete, but it may do something to supply a 
want which has been felt in many quarters, and add to the attrac- 
tiveness of the Sunday School Concert, which is steadily grow- 
ing in favor, and has already become an established institution in 
many Sunday Schools. * 

The large number of beautiful selections which the compiler 
has been enabled to include in this little volume leads her to 
hope, that, apart from its use as a Sunday School Speaker, it 
may be considered as a safe and suitable gift from a parent or 
Sunday School Teacher to a child. 

O. A. C. * 



INDEX. 



PAGE 

The Heavenly Home, Dialogue, « . 11 

A Good Rule, 12 

Sunshine, 12 

Child's Hymn, *12 

Little Efforts, 13 

Unfading. Garden, Dialogue, .14 

Little Willie and the Apple, 15 

Christ and the Little Ones, 16 

What says the Clock ? 18 

Youthful Offerings (close with chant), 19 

The Peacemaker, Dialogue, .......... 20 

Harvest Fields of Time, 21 

Golden Hair, ............. 22 

Jesus ever near 23 

Something to do in Heaven, . 24 

Little Servants, 24 

The Bird in the Storm, 25 

Willie and the Birds, 26 

Ballad, ........ 27 

Hymn of Praise (close toith singing), 29 

Ellen and Mary, Dialogue, 30 

Piece for three Boys, Dialogue, 31 

The Child's Prayer, 33 

Whatsoever ye ask, 34 

The Child and the Sceptic, 37 

Maggie reading her Testament, 38 

The Little Guide, 40 

Love one Another, 31 

My Shepherd, 42 

Lost Margery, 43 

The Open Door, .44 

The Little Orphan, 45 

The Golden Crown, Dialogue, . 46 

Katie's Treasures, 47 

Sandalphon, 49 

The Lent Jewels, 51 

The Mother's Prayer, . . 52 



VIII INDEX* 



PAGE 

THe Book of Thanks, Dialogue, ......... 54 

The Rain Lesson, ....;...... 55 

I never will grow old, # 57 

I will be beautiful, • . . 57 

Every-day Religion, Dialogue, 58 

The Immortal Crown, . .60 

Waiting for a Blessing, . 62 

The Home Temple, . 63 

Jesus of Nazareth, . . . , , 64 

Compound Interest, 66 

The Beggar, . . . . * 66 

Carving a Name, 68 

The Shadows of Twilight, 68 

The Christian and hfe Echo, Dialogue, 69 

Drawing Water, 71 

The Street called Straight, 71 

The Sister Land, Dialogue, .......... 72 

Gradatim, 76 

Whom not having seen we love, 77 

The Lost Pocket-book, Dialogue, • 79 

Jerusalem tlfe Golden, 82 

Emir Hassan, 83 

My Name, * . . 84 

Uplifted Hands, 85 

Peace, , • . • 86 

The Two Recording Angels, Dialogue, 88 

The Vaudois Teacher, 89 

Nearer Home, 91 

Fadeless is a Loving Heart, 92 

Hymn, To Thee, our heavenly Father, .93 

" Adeste Fideles ! » 94 

Impressions — Tintypes, Dialogue, .95 

The Sultan's Lesson, 100 

Honor thy Father and thy Mother, Dialogue, 101 



PIECES FOR MAY. 

Introductory Poem for May Festival, 102 

The Flower Girl (close with singing), ........ 104 

The Seasons, Dialogue, 105 

The May Queen, 106 

Origin of the Moss Rose, 7 107 

The May Queen, 107 

May, 108 

The Little Child and the Robins, .109 

May, 110 

The Seasons, Dialogue, 110 



INDEX. IX 

PAGE 

The Wild Rose, 112 

A June Shower, , 113 

The Seasons, Dialogue, 114 

The Flowers of May, Dialogue, 115 

The May Festival, Dialogue, 119 



PIECES FOR CHRISTMAS. 

Santa Claus' Speech, 123 

The Greeting {close with singing), . 125 

The Christmas Stocking, 125 

The Crown of Life, . 127 

The Christmas tree, . . . . 127 

Christmas, ^ 128 

Little May's New-Tear Wish, 129 

A Christmas Picture, ........... 130 

A Lesson, .............. 131 

Bertha's Christmas Vision, Dialogue, 131 

'A Christmas Greeting, 134 

A Merry Christmas Greeting, . . .... . ' • . • . .135 

Christmas Hymn, 136 

An Old Legend, . 137 

The Snow, Dialogue, 139 

*£he Fairy's Address, Dialogue, 140 

The Poor Boy's Prayer to St. Nicholas, '144 

The Christmas Tree, 145 

The Angels of the Seven Planets, Dialogue, . .146 

Christmas, 148 

Mabel's Wonder, 149 

The Birds, Dialogue, 150 

The Pretty Pictures, ............ 153 



The Children's Church, . \ 154 

My Lambs, . . • . . , . .155 

An Angel of Patience, ........... 158 

Scenes on Jordan's Strand, 159 

Living Waters, 160 

Over tlie River, 161 

Coming, .............. 163 

The Burial of Moses, 166 

The Sleep, 169 

Perpetual Adoration, 171 

The Watcher on the Tower, 172 

The Child and the Mourners, 174 



INDEX. 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 

PAGE 

On the Death of a Teacher, . 176 

Presentation of a Vase of Roses, . . 177 

The Bitter Cup Sweet, 177 

The First Concert in a New Church, .178 

On Presenting a Teacher with any Gift, . • 0. • • • .179 

Gone, .* . 179 

On the Death of a young Schoolmate, ........ 180 

Exhibition Hymn, ............ 181 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER, 



oJ<Xo 



THE HEAVENLY HOME. 

[For five little girls belonging to the Infant Class. The names should be 
changed to correspond with the names of the speakers.] 

Elsie. There is a land more fair and bright, 
Where we may ever dwell in light. 
Where is it, Mary ? 

Mary. There is a land far, far above, 

Where angels dwell — a world of love. 
Dost thou know, Carrie ? 

Carrie. Yes, Mary ; that land is heaven, 

A home for all the just and chosen. 
Wouldst thou know, Jennie ? 

Jennie. Yes ; I, too, would with my Saviour rest, 
And be an angel with the blest. 
Will you join us, Hattie ? 

Hattie. Yes ; I would with my Saviour reign, 
And with the angels ever sing, 
" I want to be an angel." 

[Here let the-class sing the hymn, " I want to be an angel."] 

11 



12 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 



A GOOD RULE. 

'Tis well to walk with a cheerful heart 

Wherever our fortunife call, # 
With a friendly glance, an open hand, 

And a gentle word for all. 

Since life is a thorny and difficult path, 
Where toil is the portion of man, 

We all should endeavor, while passing along, 
To make it as smooth as we can. 



SUNSHINE. 

I thank God for the sunshine 
He sends upon the earth ; 

It lightens all njy troubles, 
It deepens all my mirth. 

Its peace upon me stealing, 
It softens care and strife, # 

And shadows forth the smile of God 
Upon a holy life. 



THE CHILD'S HYMN. 

I am a very little child ; 

I'm very young and very wild, 

And sometimes naughty too ; 
I'm led by many a foolish thought 
To do the things I never ought 

To think of or to do. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 13 

But God, the holy God above 
Is very kind and full of love 

For little ones like nie ; 
And he will hear me if I pray, 
And he will help me every day 

A better child to be. 



LITTLE EFFORTS. 

A little child I am indeed, 

And little do I know ; 
Much care and-help I yet shall need, 

That I may wiser grow, 
If I would ever hope to do 
Things great and good and useful too. 

But, even now, I ought to try 

To do what good I may ; 
God never meant that such as I 

Should only live to play, 
And talk and laugh, and eat and drink, 
And sleep and wake, and never think. 

One gentle word that I may speak, 

Or one kind, loving deed, 
May, though a trifle, poor and weak, 

Prove like a tiny seed ; 
And who can tell what good may spring 
From such a very little thing ? 

Then let me try each day and hour 

To act upon this plan ; 
What little good is in my power 

To do it while I can. 
If to be useful thus I try, 
I may do better by and by. 



14 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 



THE UNFADING GARDEN. 

Mary. Next summer I will not have a garden ; one pretty 
tree is dying, and I will not love another tree as long as I live. 
I will have a bird, and that will stay all winter. 

Kate. Don't you remember my beautiful canary ? It died in 
the middle of the summer, and we planled bright flowers in 
the ground where we buried it. My bird did not live as long 
as. the tree. 

Mary. Yes, I remember it ; it seems as if everything died 
that we loved. This summer I thought I should have ever so 
many flowers, — enough to give away bouquets to all the sick 
people and little girls I know ; and so in the spring mother 
gave me a little garden, that I was to have all to myself, and I 
planted ever so many seeds. 

Kate. Did you ? Haven't any of them come up ? 

Mary. Not one. I waited patiently ever so long, and could 
not see a green leaf. Uncle Frank laughed at me, and said he 
thought I had planted the seeds so deep that they would go 
down to China, and the little Chinese boys and girls would 
have all my flowers. So I thought I would dig up the ground 
a little, and see if they had sprouted. I looked and looked, 
and I couldn't help crying, to think I couldn't find them. I 
believe Uncle Frank was right. 

Kate. What did he mean by their coming up in China ? 

Mary. Why, you know it says in the geography that the 
world is round, and I suppose he meant that China was on the 
opposite side to us. 

Kate. Yes ; but my teacher says that the centre of the earth 
is filled with fire, and I should think those little seeds would be 
burnt up before they got through. 

Mary. Well, we'll ask Uncle Frank all about it this evening ; 
but hefe comes Helen ; let us tell her what we have been say- 
ing, [Enter Helen.] 

Helen. What are you girls talking about, that makes you 
look so sober? 

Kate. Why, Mary and I have been saying that everything 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 15 

we loved died. My darling canary, and her pretty tree, and 
all her nice little seeds, that she thought would grow into such 
beautiful flowers. I wish we could have something that would 
live, — some birds, or flowers, or trees. I wonder if there is 
a place where they live always. 

, Helen. Yes, my Sunday-school teacher says there is, and I 
have read about it in the Bible, — a garden where the trees 
never die. 

Kate. A real garden ? 

Mary. Oh, do tell us where it is ; if I could only have a gar- 
den there, I would take so much care of it. I would water it 
and weed it, and be so happy. 

Helen. Yes, a real garden. My teacher says it is heaven. 
In the middle of it there runs a river of water, clear as crystal, 
and on each side of the river is the tree of life, a tree that never 
fades. Every time we do good actions, we plant seeds in our 
hearts, that will bloom in this garden into beautiful flowers, 
and if we go to heaven we shall find them all there. 

Mary. And will they never die? And could I make a 
wreath of them and place it at the Saviour's feet? 

Helen. Oh, yes, there is no fading there ; and if we love the 
Saviour here, he will prepare us to " dwell in the green pas- 
tures, and beside the still waters." 

Kate. I am so glad you told us this. Helen, I mean to learn 
all I can about it. 

Mary. And so do I, and I shall think whenever I try to be 
real good that my flowers are growing all the brighter, and 
whenever I am naughty, that the seeds are dying fast. {Ex- 
eunt.'] P. 



LITTLE WILLIE AND THE APPLE. 

Little Willie stood under an apple-tree old, 
The fruit was all shining with crimson and gold, 
Hanging temptingly low — how he longed for a bite, 
Though he knew, if he took one, it wouldn't be right. 



16 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

Said he, " I don't see why my father should say, 

' Don't touch the old apple-tree, Willie, to-day ; ' 

I shouldn't have thought — now they're hanging so low, 

When I asked for just one, he would answer me 4 No.' 

" He never would know if I took but just one, 
And they do look so good, shining out in the sun ; 
There are hundreds and hundreds, and he would not miss 
So paltry a little red apple .as this." 

He stretched forth his hand, — a low, mournful strain 

Came wandering dreamily over his brain ; 

In his bosom a beautiful harp had long laid, 

That the angel of conscience quite frequently played. 

And he sung, "Little Willie, beware, oh, beware! 
Your father has gone, but your Maker is there ; 
How sad you would feel if you heard the Lord say, 
' This dear little boy stole an apple to-day.' " 

Then Willie turned round, and, as still as a mouse, 

Crept slowly and carefully into the house ; 

In his own little chamber he knelt down to pray 

That the Lord would forgive him, and please not to say 

" Little Willie almost stole an apple to-day." 



CHRIST AND THE LITTLE ONES. 

" The Master has come over Jordan," 
Said Hannah, the mother, one day ; 

" He is healing the people who throng him, 
With a touch of his finger, they say. 

" And now I shall carry the children, 
Little Rachel, and Samuel, and John; 

I shall carry the baby, father, 
For the Lord to look upon." 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 17 

The father looked at her kindly, 

But he shook his head and smiled ; 
" Now who but a doting mother 

Would think of a thing so wild ! 

"If the children were tortured by demons, 

Or dying of fever — 'twere well — 
Or had they the taint of the leper, 

Like many in Israel — " 

" Nay, do not hinder me, Nathan, 

I feel such a burden of care, — 
If I carry it to the Master 

Perhaps I shall leave it there. 

" If he lay his hand on the children, 

My heart will be lighter, I know, 
For a blessing forever and ever 

Will follow them as they go." 

So over the hills of Judah, 

Along by the vine-rows green, 
With Esther asleep on her bosom, 

And Rachel her brothers between ; 

'Mong the people who hung on his teaching, 

Or waited his touch and his word, 
Through the row of proud Pharisees listening, 

She pressed to the feet of the Lord. 

" Now why should st thou hinder the Master," 

Said Peter, "with children like these? 
Seest not how from morning till evening 

He teacheth and healeth disease ? " 

Then Christ said : " Forbid not the children, 
Permit them to come unto me ; " 
2 



18 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

And he took in his arm little Esther, 
And Rachel he sat on his knee. 

And the heavy heart of the mother 
Was lifted all earth-care above, 

As he laid his hands on the brothers, 
And blessed them with tenderest love ; 

As he said to the babes in his bosom, 
" Of such are the kingdom of heaven ; " ■ 

And strength for all duty and trial, 
That hour to her spirit was given. 



WHAT SAYS THE CLOCK? 

What says the clock when it strikes one ? 

" Watch ! " says the clock, " oh, watch, little one ! " 

What says the clock when it strikes two ? 

" Love God, little darling, for God loves you." 

Tell me now, softly, what it whispers at three. 

" Suffer little children to come unto me." 

Then come, gentle lambs, come and wander no more ; 
'Tis the good Shepherd that calls thee at four ; 
And oh, let your young heart with gladness revive, 
When it echoes so sweetly, " God bless thee," at five ; 
And remember at six, with the fading of day, 
That your life is a vapor that passeth away. 

What says the clock when it strikes seven ? 
11 Of such is the kingdom, the kingdom of heaven." 
And what says the clock when it strikes eight? 
" Strive ye all to enter in at the Beautiful Gate ; " 
And louder, still louder, it calls thee at nine, 
" Give me, my son, that proud heart of thine." 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 19 

Then sweet be your voices responsive at ten, 

" Hosanna in the highest ! Hosanna ! Amen ! " 

And loud let the chorus ring on till eleven, 

u Praise be to the Father, the Father in Heaven ! " 

Till the deep stroke of midnight the watchword shall bring, 

Lo ! these are my jewels, I will gather them in. 



YOUTHFUL OFFEKINGS. 

We are little flower-buds 

Of life's early spring, 
And our little offerings 

To our Father bring. 
Though we very small may be, 

God has called us his ; 
Saying, " Of such little ones, 

God's great kingdom is." 

We are taught the way to heaven 

In our Sunday school, 
And our actions have to guide 

By the golden rule. * 
Much we love our little school, 

And our teachers kind, 
Who, with earnest, patient zeal, 

Guide each youthful mind. 

Come and see our Sunday school 

On some Sabbath-clay, 
And the scene presented you 

Richly will repay. 
For we little flower-buds 

Of life's early spring 



20 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

Sound aloud our joyful strains 
To our Saviour King. 

[Conclude with chanting the passage, u Suffer little children to come unto 
me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven." — (Harp of 
Judah, page 363, No. 15.) ] 

[This piece, Youthful Offerings, should be spoken by one of five little girls, 
wearing wreaths of flowers on their heads. They all come forward together, 
and, as soon as the last verse is finished, all together chant " Suffer," etc.] 



THE PEACEMAKER. 

Mary. O brothers, do not quarrel, for it is a foolish way 
To get so soon offended in our study or our play ; 
He did not mean to strike you, nor should you an- 
gry be, 
For oh, he loves you dearly, and no better friend 
than he. 

Georgie. Oh, listen, merry Charlie, and no longer strive and 

cry, 
I'm sure you'll forgive me, when sweet Mary bids 

you try ; 
For I was rather hasty and gave you needless pain, 
But, Charlie, now forgive me, and I'll not do so 

again. * 

Charlie. Well, well, if I forgive him, he'll be plaguing me 

again. 
Mary. And seven times if he trouble you, oh, still in love 

refrain. 
Charlie. Then Georgie take my hand once more, Td rather 
be your friend, 
And I was rather hasty too, so let us both amend. 

Both boys. And when the people go to war, I wish that every 
nation 
Had once a gentle Mary there to offer arbitration ; 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 21 

Then soon would slumber on their cliffs the eagle and the 

lion, 
And soon the cannon all would melt, and turn to railroad 

iron. 



HARVEST FIELDS OF TIME. 

Children, you and I are gleaners 

In the harvest field of time ; 
Day by day the grain is ripening 

For a summer clime. 

Whether in the early morning, 

Going forth with busy feet, 
Or, as weary laborers, resting 

'Mid the noon-day heat, — 

Let us strive with cheerful spirits 

Each our duties to fulfil ; 
Till the time of harvest, subject 

To the Master's will. 

Let us garner up sweet memories, 

Bound with ties of love, 
Pleasant thoughts to clear the pathway 

To our home above ; — 

Trusting that these pleasant gleanings, 

Bound with loving hand, 
May, in golden sheaves, be gathered 

To the spirit land. 



8. S. Gazette. 



" He prayeth best who loveth best 
All things,*both great and small ; 
For the dear God who loveth us, 
He made and loveth all." 



22 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 



GOLDEN HAIR. 

Golden Hair sat on her grandfather's knee ; 
Dear little Golden Hair, tired was she, 
All the day busy, as busy could be. 

Up in the morning, as soon as 'twas light, 
Out with the birds and the butterflies bright, 
Flitting about till the coming of night. 

Grandfather toyed with the curls on her head, — 

"What has my baby been doing," he said, 

" Since she arose, with the sun, from her bed? " 

" Pitty much," answered the sweet little one, 
" I cannot tell, so much things have I done ; 
Played with my dolly, and feeded my * bun.' 

" And I have jumped with my little jump-rope, 
And then I made, out of water and soap, 
Buftle worlds, mamma's castles of hope. 

" Then I have readed in my picture-book, 

And little Bella and I went to look 

For some smooth stones by the side of the brook. 

" Then I corned home and eatecl my tea, 
And I climbed up to my grandpa's knee, 
Vmjes as tired as tired can be." 

Nearer and nearer the little head pressed, 
Until it dropped upon grandfather's breast ; 
Dear little Golden Hair, "sweet be thy rest." 

We are but children ; the things that we do 
Are as sports of a babe to the Infinite view, 
That sees all our weakness and pities it too. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 23 

God grant that when night overshadows our way, 
And we shall be called to account for the day, 
He may find it as guileless as Golden Hair's play. 

And oh ! when aweary, may we be so blest 
As to sink, like an innocent child, to our rest, 
And feel ourselves clasped to the Infinite breast. 



JESUS EVER NEAR/ 

Dear Saviour, ever at my side, 

How loving thou must be, 
To leave thy home in heaven, to guard 

A little child like me ! 
Thy beautiful and shining face 

I see not, though so near ; 
The sweetness of thy soft, low voice 

I am too deaf to hear. 

I cannot feel thee touch my hand 

# With pressure light and mild, 
To check me as my mother did, 

When I was but a child. 
But I have felt thee in my thoughts, 

Fighting with sin for me ; 
And when my heart loves God, I know 

The sweetness is from thee. 

• 
And when, dear Saviour, I kneel down, 

Morning and night, to prayer, 
Something there is within my heart, 

Which tells me thou art there. 
Yes ! when I pray thou prayest too, 

Thy prayer is all for me ; 
But when I sleep, thou sleepest not, 

But watchest patiently. 



24 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 



SOMETHING TO DO IN HEAVEN. 

There'll be something in heaven for children to do ; 

None are idle in that blessed land ; 
There'll be loVes for the heart, there'll be thoughts for the 
mind, 

And employment for each little hand. 

There'll be lessons to learn of the wisdom of God, 
As they wander the green meadows o'er ; 

And they'll have for their teachers, in that blest abode, 
All the good that have gone there before. 

There'll be errands of love from the mansions above 

To the dear ones that linger below ; 
And it may be, our Father the children will send 

To be angels of mercy in woe. 

B. S. Taylor. 



LITTLE SERVANTS. 

• 

[For a very young child. When hands are spoken of, they should be held 
up before the audience, and when lips, eyes, and hearts are spoken of, they 
should be touched by the speaker.] 

Oh, what can little hands do 

To please the King of heaven ? 
The little hands some work may try 
To help the poor in misery ; — 

Such grace to mine be given. 

Oh, what can little lips do 

To please the King of heaven ? 
The little lips can praise and pray, 
And gentle words of kindness say ; — 

Such grace to mine be given. 



THE SUKDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 25 

Oh, what can little eyes do 

To please the King of heaven ? 
The little eyes can upward look, 
Can learn to read God's holy book ; — 

Such grace to mine be given. ^ 

Oh, what can little hearts do 

To please the King of heaven ? 
The hearts, if God his Spirit send, 
Can love and trust the children's Friend ; — 

Such grace to mine be given. 

When hearts and hands and lips unite 

To please the King of heaven, 
And serve the Saviour with delight, 
They are most precious in his sight ; — 

Such grace to mine be given. 

Tract Journal. 



THE BIRD IN THE STORM. 

The rain was falling, the winds were calling, 

The clouds swept over the sky ; 
When mid the alarm, the darkness and storm, 

A shower of song swept by ; 

Says the little wee bird, " Tis I." 

" Oh ! is it not dreary, and are you not weary, 

Poor little wee bird ? " I said, 
" How lonely and queer you must feel out here, 

Just under the tempest dread ! 

Ah ! birdie, you'll soon be dead ! " 

" While the storm is ringing is my time for singing," 

Says the little wee bird to me ; 
" Though the clouds be dim, I'll warble my hymn, 



26 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

And I die not, though cold it be, 
For my name it is Hope," said she. 

So the song it is gushing, and seems as if hushing 

The atmosphere tempest-stirred ; 
Softly and clear it falls on the ear, 

Through clouds and through darkness heard, — 

The song of the sweet wee bird ! 



WILLIE AND THE BIRDS. 

A little black-eyed boy of five 

Thus' spake to his mamma : 
" Do look at all the pretty birds ; 

How beautiful they are ! 
How smooth and glossy are their wings ; 

How beautiful their hue ; 
Besides, mamma, I really think 

That they are pious too ! " 

" Why so, my dear ? " the mother said, 

And scarce suppressed a smile ; 
The answer showed a thoughtful head, 

A heart quite free from guile : 
" Because, when each one bows his head, 

His tiny bill to wet, 
To lift a thankful glance above 

He never does forget ; 
And so, mamma, it seems to me 
That very pious they must be." 

Dear child, I would a lesson learn 
From this sweet thought of thine, 

And heavenward, with a glad heart, turn 
These earth-bound eyes of mine ; 

Perfected praise indeed is given, 

By babes below, to God in heaven. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 27 



BALLAD. 



Among green, pleasant meadows, 

All in a grove so mild, 
Was set a marble image 

Of the Virgin and the Child. 

There- oft on summer evenings 

A lovely boy would rove, 
To play beside the image 

That sanctified the grove. 

Oft sat his mother by him, 

Among the shadows dim, 
And told how the Lord Jesus 

Was once a child like him. 

" And now from highest heaven 
He doth look down each day, 

And sees whate'er thou doest, 
And hears what thou dost say." 

Thus spake his tender mother ; 

And on an evening bright, 
When the red, round sun descended, 

Mid clouds of crimson light, 

Again the boy was playing, 

And earnestly said he, 
" O beautiful Lord Jesus, 

Come down and play with me ! 

" I will find thee flowers the fairest, 
And weave for thee a crown ; 

I will get thee ripe, red strawberries, 
If thou wilt but come down. 



28 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

" O holy, holy mother, 

Put him down from off thy knee ; 
For in these silent meadows 

•There are none to play with me." 

Thus spake the boy so lovely, 
The while his mother heard ; 

But on his prayer she pondered, 
And spake to him no word. 

That self-same night she dreamed 

A lovely dream of joy ; 
She thought she saw young Jesus 

There playing with the boy. 

" And for the fruits and flowers 
Which thou hast brought to me, 

Rich blessings shall be given 
A thousand fold to thee. 

"For in the fields of heaven 
Thou shalt roam with me at will, 

And of bright fruits celestial 
Shall have, dear child, thy fill." 

Thus tenderly and kindly . 

The fair child Jesus spoke ; 
And full of careful musings 

The anxious mother woke. 

And thus it was accomplished, 
In a short month and day, 

That lovely boy, so gentle, 
Upon his death-bed lay. 

And thus he spoke in dying, — 
" O mother dear, I see 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 29 

The beautiful child Jesus 
A-coming down to me. 

" And in his hand he beareth 
Bright flowers, as white as snow, 

And red and juicy strawberries ; 
Dear mother, let me go." 

He died, — but that fond mother 

Her sorrow did refrain ; 
For she knew he was with Jesus, 

And she asked him not again ! 

From the German of Herder. 



HYMN OF PRAISE. 

[To be recited by one of a class of scholars, the remainder of whom join in 

singing at the close.] 

Oil, gladly on this Sabbath day, 

The day our Father blessed, 
We meet to pi'aise his holy name, 

Who gave this day of rest ; 
We'll raise our hearts to him in prayer, 
Who giveth all things bright and fair. 

We'll praise God for our Sabbath school, 

For teachers wise and kind, 
Who search with us the Book of books, 

God's precious truth to find ; 
Who gently lead our wayward feet 
Up to our Father's mercy-seat. 

We'll sing, with happy hearts, a song 

Of praise and joy and love ; 
And angels will the strains prolong 

In the bright world above ; 



30 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

Let every voice help swell the lay, 
And crown with joy our festal day. 

[All sing. Tune,— Auld Lang Syne.] 

How sweetly hallowed is this hour 

To every contrite heart, 
That loves our Christ, and seeks the grace 

His Spirit can impart ! 
Lord, keep these precious souls we pray, 

And guide them in the way ; 
Lord, keep these precious souls we pray, 

And guide them in the way. 



ELLEN AND MARY. 

Mary. O Ellen, this is a lovely world, 
With* everything so nice ; 
God made it, and pronounced it good, — 
'Twas then a paradise. 

Ellen. Yes, Mary, I think 'tis very fine, — 
Such hills and mountains high, 
With valleys sweet to look upon, 
And rivers gliding by. 

Mary. I love to read about the birds, 
Within my little book ; 
The lambs that skip, the fish that play 
Within the pearly brook. 

Ellen. Pd rather see those happy birds, 
And hear their merry song, 
And catch the lambs, and scare the fish, 
Than read such stories long. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 31 

Mary. I love to think about the flowers 
That bloom in field and wood ; 
God made them to adorn the earth, — 
How beautiful and good ! 

Mien. Td rather go a thousand times, 

And pick those wild-wood flowers 
Out in the fields where gay they smile, 
To bless our childhood's hours. 

Mary. Well, in a world so beautiful, 
How happy should we be ! 
Like playful lambs and merry birds, 
From every sorrow free. 

Both together, — hand in hand. 

Oh, thus we'll be as innocent 

And guileless in our ways ; 
Sweet sleep shall soothe our sleep at night, 

And joy shall crown our days. 

Gospel Teacher. 



A DIALOGUE. 

[For three boys.] 

Henry. Good-evening, William ; glad to find you at home 
this evening. John and myself want to have a talk with you. 

William. Glad to see you, boys. I was just thinking what 
a long evening I was to have of it. I am too tired to go out 
myself. 

John. Tired, Will? Why, what makes you tired? Tm not 
a bit tired, and I have been to Sunday school and twice to 
church to-day. 

E. Yes, William ; and that's what John and I are going to 
talk to you about. What's the reason you haven't been to Sab- 
bath school these two or three Sundays past? 



32 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

W. Oh, Sunday school has played out. 

J. Why, William, what makes you talk so? What do you 
mean? 

W. Mean ? Why, just this : I've been to Sunday school all 
I want to. I don't like the idea of being marched off Sunday 
morning at just such a time, merely because children have al- 
ways been sent, and of course they always must be, — I don't 
believe one in ten of our parents could tell why or wherefore. 
The fact is, if the Sunday school is such a good place, why 
don't our parents show more interest in it ? 

J. Stop, William ; I think you are a little too fast, and 
rather unjust. I'm sure many of i our parents come to see us 
occasionally. 

W. Oh, yes, drop in occasionally, and give a look around to 
see that the machinery works w r ell ; and if a wheel is stopped for 
want of some one to set it in motion, pass along and think it's all 
right, — 'tis none of their affairs; by and by the superintend- 
ent will find some obliging hand perfectly willing to give it a 
turn, and so they pass out for another quarter. 

H. Well, John, I think William has spoken some truth* in 
what he has said ; but I see no reason why he "should stay 
away from the Sabbath school. We had better make him 
promise that he will return next Sabbath, and try to make things 
better. 

W. I'll promise to do that when you promise to make our 
parents believe the Sunday school to be a place worthy their 
especial notice. When I get to be a large boy I don't want to 
feel that I'm in a small place, designed for children merely. 

J. Do you think the Sunday school a very small place, 
William ? 

W. Why, not exactly ; I always liked to go well enough ; 
but I find when boys get to be about so old, they leave the 
school. I see them out here Sunday mornings, standing about 
this corner, and they laugh at me. Now I don't believe, if our 
fathers and mothers were in the school, that we should ever 
want to leave it ; for I think, if I can go where my father does, 
that I am about a man. 

H. You speak truly, William, but I see no reason why you 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 33 

should get discouraged. Why, our pastor might just as well 
give up preaching, because the people don't come to church 
afternoons, and when it rains a bit. No, William, we must 
work all the harder, so that our parents may have a better 
knowledge of the school. 

W. How will they get this if they never come here ? 

H. Tell them about it; tease them till they do come. 
Once here, and our work is accomplished, for they cannot help 
loving our school when they become acquainted with it. We 
should not then have parents indifferent as to where their chil- 
dren went to Sabbath school. They would feel that right here, 
and nowhere else, should their children be on the Sabbath. 

J. Yes, William, we must make them love it as they do their 
home, and then their children will grow up in it, and from that 
to the church, and take their places as teachers. You will not 
then have to complain about a wheel being stopped, and our 
pastor will not be perplexed with the thought, as the fathers fall 
from their places, that no young men are growing up into them. 

W. And our large girls will not have to go into other socie- 
ties to find beaux, will they ? 

H. No, William, not when we get grown up, unless they 
have to go into other societies to find us. 

W. I'll see to it that they shall not seek me elsewhere. 
Depend upon my being at Sabbath school next Sabbath. Good- 
night, boys. 

Henry and John. Good-night, William. 

William, to audience. Dear parents, §ee wliat you can do 
towards securing the future prosperity of your society. En- 
courage your youth by example as well as precept. Be as- 
sured that the result will be gratifying to you, and a blessing 
to the world. M. H. 



THE CHILD'S PRAYER. 

" God bless dear papa," my little girl said, — 
As at nightfall she knelt by her own little bed, — 



34 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

* ' Dear papa who works for me all the long day, 

And never seems weary of toiling for May. 

God bless dear mamma for all her fond care, 

For the love and the patience which never despair ; 

Oh, I often have grieved her, forgive me, I pray, 

And help me with love her kind thoughts to repay. 

God bless brother Willie, the dear little pet, 

He's the cunningest baby I have ever seen yet ; 

With eyes of sky-blue, and such soft, curly hair, 

And such sweet, sunny smiles as an angel might wear. 

God bless him, my dear little brother, I pray, 

And make him a blessing and comfort alway ; 

Help me to be kind to my little brother, 

O thou, who hast told us to ' love one another.' 

God bless dear grandmamma, now she is old, 

For her love for us children will never grow cold, 

And I know she remembers us ever each day, 

As she kneels in her closet, for loved ones to pray. 

And grandpapa, too, who's so kind to me, 

And tells me sweet stories as I sit on his knee ; 

God bless them with love more precious than gold, 

And gather us all at last in his fold." 

And then her voice faltered, and the tenderness crept 
Up under her eyelids till softly she wept ; 
" God bless little Minnie so sweet and so fair, 
She's gone to the angels, — there's no sorrow there ; 
God bless us and keep us from evil each day, 
And make us all love him and do right alway : 
And take us some day (we are all only seven) 
To see little Minnie all safe up in heaven ! " 



WHATSOEVER YE ASK. 

" * Whatsoever ye ask ; ' yes, yes, I am sure 
That these are the words the minister said ; " 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 35 

And little Grace Arnold, with look demure, 
Swayed backward and forward her curly head. 

" « Whatsoever ye ask.' Well, isn't it strange, 

That no one has told me of this before ? 
When I had not even a dress for a change, 

And only the shawl my grandmother wore. 

" And such large heavy shoes, and an old, old hat, 
The girls say 'tis one that Xoah's wife had ; 

I'm sure 'tis naughty for them to say that, 
It makes me feel lonely, and sick, and so bad. 

" But now I shall ask for such nice things, to wear, 
Let me see, — dresses, and shoes, and a hood, 

And a large warm cloak, and some furs, — if I dared ; 
If God were in my place I guess that he would." 

And little Grace Arnold knelt down by her chair, 
Her- face all aglow with the hope in her soul ; 

With her small hands folded, this simple, strange prayer, 
In sweet, childish tones to the father's throne stole. 

" Dear God up in heaven ! you surely must know 
That poor folks don't get all the things that they need ; 

And sometimes, so cold, and so hungry they go, 
That living at all is a sorrow, indeed. 

" The reason I think is, they never were told, 
Whatever they asked you surely would give, 

Else they would not, I know, wear clothes that are old, . 
And in such poor houses and dark places live. 

" Pm poor, and my father and mother are dead, 
And the folks where I live are not very kind ; 

I have to work hard to get enough bread, 
And sometimes have only the crusts I can find. 



36 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 



•> 



* " And if you'll just send me a plenty to eat, 
With a dress (a blue one), a cloak, and a hood 
(And some stockings and shoes to put on my feet), 
I'll be very thankful, and try to be good. 

" I won't ask this time for a doll or a book, 
And will thank you so much for other nice things ! 

And I'll keep wide awake all night, and will look 
Till I see, through the dark, an angel's bright wings. 

" An angel will come with the things, I suppose, 

I should love to look in its beautiful face ; 
So I'll open the door, though cold the wind blows, 

And sit close beside it to show the right place. 

" And I shall be glad, oh, so glad, for I'll know 
That whatsoever we ask you truly will do, 

And I'll tell the poor folks wherever I go, 
So they can have plenty to eat and wear too." 

Ah, poor little Grace ! through all the long night 
She waited and watched for the angel to come ; 

But only sleep came with the dawning of light, 
And no other angel had entered the room. 

Her young heart grew sad ; disappointment severe 
Had robbed her of faith in the mercy of God. 

Shenvaited and watched through nearly a year, 
Then her spirit's frail casket was hid by the sod. 

Ah, dear little Grace ! there are many to-day 

Whose bosoms, with bright hopes as false as yours, thrill ; 

They toil and they suffer, then yearningly pray, 
But know not prayer ever must be " as God will." 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 37 



THE CHILD AND THE SCEPTIC. 

A little girl was sitting beside a cottage door ; 
And, with the Bible on her knee, she conned its pages o'er, 
When by there passed a traveller, that sultry summer-day, 
And begged some water, and a seat, to cheer him on his way. 

" Come in, sir, pray, and rest awhile," the little maiden cried ; 
" To house a weary traveller is mother's joy and pride." 
And while he drank the welcome draught, and chatted mer- 
rily, 
She sought again the cottage door, the Bible on her knee. 

At length refreshed, the traveller, a sceptic he, uprose : 
" What, reading still the Bible, child ? your lesson, I suppose." 
" 'No lesson, sir," the girl replied, " I have no task to learn; 
But often to these stories here with joy and love I turn." 

" And wherefore do you love that book, my little maid, I pray, 
And turn its pages o'er and o'er the livelong summer-day ? " 
"Why love the Bible, did you ask? — how angry, sir, you 

look! 
I thought that everybody loved this holy, precious book." 

The sceptic smiled, made no reply, and, pondering, travelled on, 
But in his mind her answer still rose ever and anon : 
" I thought all loved the holy book," — it was a strange reply ; 
" Why do not I, then, love itgtoo? " he whispered with a sigh. 

He mused, resolved, examined, prayed; he looked within, 

above ; 
He read, acknowledged it — the truth, and worshipped Him — 

the love. 
A nobler life from that same hour the sceptic proud began, 
And lived and labored many a year a Bible-loving man. 



38 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 



MAGGIE READING HER TESTAMENT. 

Mamma, when our Lord was a dear little child, 
Do you think he was loved as you love me ? 

Do you think he played, and prattled, and smiled, 
And loved to climb on his mother's knee ? 

Did she clasp him close, and hold him long, 
And call him her own, her heavenly boy, 

And, softly humming, sing over the song 
That the angels sang on that night of joy ? 

Did he say his prayers when he went to sleep, 
Asking God's care for friends who are dear? 

Did he ever grieve ? did he ever weep ? 
Did he ever wish ? did he ever fear ? 

Was he always thinking, I wonder, of God ? 

Was he always praying and never gay ? 
Was he always reading the Holy Word ? 

Was he not ready sometimes to play ? 

His playmates, too, I wonder about, — 
What were their games when all together? 

I cannot think he would run and shout 
As other boys do in the pleasant weather ! 

Who taught him, I wonder, hi% letters to know, — 
Those letters that look so strange and hard ; 

I wonder if he to school did go, 

And how early he learned to read the Word. 

Did he understand what the prophets meant F 
Did he always feel sure that he was the Lord ? 

Did he always know that he had been sent 
To open the straight and narrow road ? 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 39 

He had brothers and sisters, the Bible says, — 

James, and Joses, and Simon, and Jude : 
I suppose when they quarrelled, one look of his 

Would make them feel sorry and try to be good. 

How did he look ? I sometimes say ; 

And would he have spoken had I been there ? 
Spoken, and not have sent me away ? 

Of his notice allowed me a little share ? 

At night, I suppose, when all were asleep, 
The angels came and talked with him long ; 

Bade him his faith and his courage keep ; 
Sang him to sleep with a heavenly song. 

" Woman," he said, — and that seems so hard ! 

" Mother" no more after Cana's wine ; 
Did he want her to know him thenceforth, as the Lord ? 

To forget her son in the Christ divine ? 

He lived at Nazareth on the hill ; 

Do you think he gazed at the sunset glow, 
And sighed at the glory so bright and still, 

And the toil in the carpenter's shop below ? 

Thirty long years he waited apart ; 

Thirty to wait for three to teach ! 
All of that time was he searching his heart 

So long getting ready to heal and to preach? 

I shall sometime know ; for mow above, 
Where the golden gates in splendor shine, 

The Lord of light and the Lord of love, 
He sits in a glory all divine. 

All divine, and with nought of earth 

Save the glorious form which he took away; 

Yet I'm sure he remembers his lowly birth, 
And I know that he hears when children pray. 



40 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

And when to his heavenly home I go, 
And am face to face with the angels mild, 

I will ask them to tell me all they know 
Of our Lord on earth as a little child. 

Mrs. Sarah B. Henshaw. 



THE LITTLE GUIDE. 

- A little child went out from home 

One pleasant summer day, 
And, wandering about alone, 

She sadly lost her way. 

• 

' Twas on a prairie bleak and wild, 
With naught to guide her right, 

She wandered, weeping, sorrowing child 
Until the hush of night. 

With aching heart and throbbing head, 

She sat her down and cried, 
Thinking of that low trundle-bed, 

With mother at its side. 

In keen despair she called aloud, 

" O mother, mother, come ! 
I'm lost, I'm lost ! with grief I'm bowed ; 

O come, and take me home ! " 

But, hark ! a sudden sound she hears, 

And, starting to her feet, 
She quickly wipes away her tears, 

A little lamb to meet. 

Quite opposite to hers, its course, 

Bleating, it onward bound ; 
She gently followed where it led, 

And soon her home she found. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 41 

Dear children, we are wanderers, 

We are going all astray, 
Until the precious Lamb of God 

Doth meet us on the way : 

Guiding our footsteps ever right, 
• We follow him in love, 
To blessed mansions, pure and bright, 
In our Father's house above. 

Family Treasure. 



LOVE ONE ANOTHER. 

A little girl, with happy look, 
Sat slowly reading a ponderous book, 
-All bound with velvet, and edged with gold, 
And its weight was more than the child could hold ; 
Yet dearly she loved to ponder it o'er, 
And every day she prized it more, 
For it said, as she looked at her dear little brother, 
It said, " Little children must love one another." 

She thought it was beautiful in that book, 
And the lesson home to her heart she took ; 
She walked on her way with a trusting grace, 
And a dove-like look on her meek, young face r 
Which said, as plain as words could say, 
The Holy Bible I must obey ; 
So, mamma, I'll be kind to my darling brother, 
For " Little children must love one another." 

I'm sorry he's naughty and will not pray, 
But I'll love him still, for I think the way 
To make him gentle and kind to me 
Will be better shown, if I let him see 



42 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

I strive to do what I think is right ; 

And thus, when I kneel to pray to-night, 

I will clasp my arms around my brother, 

And say " Little children must love one another." 

The little girl did as the Bible taught, 

And pleasant indeed was the change it wrought, 

For the boy looked up in glad surprise 

To meet the light of her loving eyes ; 

His heart was full, he could not speak, 

He pressed a kiss on his sister's cheek ; 

And God looked down on the happy mother, 

Whose little children loved each other. 



MY SHEPHERD. 

Great Shepherd of the sheep, 
Who all thy flock doth keep, 

Leading by waters calm ; 
Do thou my footsteps guide, 
To follow by thy side ; 

Make me thy little lamb. 

I fear I may be torn 

By many a sharp-set thorn, 

As far from thee I stray, — 
My weary feet may bleed ; 
For rough are paths which lead 

Out of thy pleasant way. 

But when the road is long, 
Thy tender arm and strong 

The weary one will bear ; 
And thou wilt wash me clean, 
And lead to pastures green, 

Where all the flowers are fair. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 43 

Till, from the soil of sin 
Cleansed and made pure within, 

Dear Saviour, whose I am, 
Thou brin ge st me in love, 
To thy sweet fold above, 

A little snow-white lamb. 



LOST MARGERY. 

Oh, where has the little one fled, 

The child with the innocent eyes, 
With the ready smile and the springing step, 

And the merry, quick replies ? 

She was always so gay and so bright 

That I miss her when she is gone ; 
Is she out at her play in the garden there ? 

Do you think she would leave me alone ? 

Perhaps she is hunting the flowers 

That come when the snow melts away, — 

The crocuses, starting up purple and white, 
Or the violets, children of May. 

Or perhaps she is out with the birds, 

Teaching robin and sparrow to sing ; 
Or dancing along with the glad little stream, 

Set free by the touch of the spring. 

Oh, why are your eyes so sad ? 

Have you never a word to say ? 
Did the angels lean from their heavenly heights 

And beckon my darling away ? 

Has she gone through the gates of pearl ? 

Has she Crossed the jasper sea? 
She cannot be lost whom the angels have found, 

But she will not come back to me. 

Louise Chandler Moulton. 



4:4 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 



THE OPEN DOOR. 

Within a town of Holland once 

A widow dwelt, 'tis said, 
So poor, alas ! her children asked 

One night in vain for bread. 
But this poor woman loved the Lord," 

And knew that he was good: 
So with her little ones around, 

She prayed to him for food. 

When prayer was done, her eldest child, 

A boy of eight years old, 
Said softly, " In the Holy Book, 

Dear mother, we are told 
How Gocl, with food by ravens brought, 

Supplied his prophet's need." 
" Yes," answered she ; " but that, my son, 

Was long ago indeed." 

5 But, mother, God may do again 

What he has done before ; 
And so to let the birds fly in 

I will unclose the door ! " 
Then little Dick, in simple faith, 

Threw ope the door full wide, 
So that the radiance of their lamp 

Fell on the path outside. 

Ere long the burgomaster passed, 

And, noticing the light, 
Paused to inquire why the door 

Was open so, .at night. 
" My little Dick has done it, sir," 

The widow, smiling, said, 
That ravens might fly in to bring 

My hungry children bread." 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 45 

" Indeed," the burgomaster cried ; 

" Then here's a raven, lad : 
Come to my home, and you shall see 

Where bread may soon be had." 
Along the street to his own house 

He quickly led the boy, 
And sent him back with food that filled 

His humble home with joy. 

The supper ended, little Dick 

Went to the open door, 
Looked up, said, " Many thanks, good Lord!" 

Then shut it fast once more ; 
For though no bird had entered in, 

He knew that God, on high, 
Had hearkened to his mother's prayer, 

And sent the full supply. 

Tract Journal. 



THE LITTLE ORPHAN. 

Out in the night, on a hard gray stone, 
A poor little beggar girl knelt alone ; 
And, clasping her hands in the quiet air, 
She softly whispered her evening prayer. 

*' O God, thou knowest I have no home ; 
But if thou wilt tell thine angels to come 
And keep their watch o'er me, I'll not fear 
Though I lay me down on the earth so drear. 

" In all this world I have no kind face, 
No eye to pity, no arm to embrace ; 
But Jesus can look on me from above, 
And I shall not want any other love." 



46 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 



The child gazed into the far-off height, 
Where myriads of stars were gleaminof bright ; 
And nearer and nearer the glory came, 
Till the earth around her seemed a-flame. 

And the faces of father and mother were there, 
And visions of angels filled the air, 
And the voice of Jesus said to her, " Come ! 
You are wanted in your eternal home." 

The morning sun arose and shone 
On a little form by the hard gray stone ; 
But the beggar's soul had cleft the skies, 
And was happy and free in Paradise. 

Child at Home. 



THE GOLDEN CROWN. 



[This dialogue is to be spoken by two girls, one considerably older than the 

other.] 

Elder. Over the river where loved ones wait, 
Just as you enter the pearly gate, 

There's a golden crown, my child, 
Begemmed with jewels, costly and rare, 
Woven with tenderest love and care, 
If you win the prize, my child. 

Younger. Will gold buy this treasure, sister dear? 
Ah ! ne'er could I get enough, I fear ; 

Are you sure it is for me ? 
And who hath charge of this golden crown ? 
Do you think, sister, they'd send it down ? 
And have they one, too, for Minnie Brown? 

Are you sure they've one for me ? 

Elder. Gold cannot buy it, my darling child ; 

• Though far and wide it were upward piled, 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKEB. 47 

All valueless dross 'twould prove. 
There's one for Minnie, Harry, and Bell ; 
And they who have charge e'er guard them well ; 
They cannot send them, my little Nell ; 

These sentinels none can move. 

Younger. Then how can I win this prize, sister, 
Since above my reach 'tis placed so far 

That the way seems very long? 
Gold cannot buy it, and, if it could, 
Indeed it would do me little good ; 
For I cannot have it, if I would, 

The guards are so stern and strong. 

Elder. Listen, my love, while I tell to you 
The old, old story, yet ever new, 

. Of the golden crown above, 
Guarded by angels, and kept for all, — 
For Nellie, Minnie, and Uncle Paul, 
Without distinction, both great and small, 
If they pay the price of love. 

True love and trust in the Saviour blest, 
Secure our pardon for sins confessed, 

And bring sweetest blessings down ; 
Then if my child will patiently wait 
Under the arch of the shining gate, 
Pass she early, or never till late, 

She will win the golden crown. 

Child at Home. 



KATIE'S TREASURES. 

In the soft October sunshine, 
'Neath the forest's golden eaves, 

Roamed a merry band of maidens, 
In a crimson rain of leaves ; 



48 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

But 'mid ringing bursts of laughter, 
Fluttering through the misty air, 

All their young hearts' cherished treasures 
Each with other did compare. 

" I dwell in a lordly mansion," 

Cried a pair of scarlet lips ; 
" In the carpet's tufted roses, 

Deep my lightest footstep dips. 
Oh, the curtains, and the pictures ! 

But, more beautiful than all, 
You should see the western sunlight 

Creep along the painted wall." 

" Listen," quickly cried another, 

" Listen now, I pray, to me, — 
Years ago there was a necklace 

Borne across the deep, blue sea ; 
In its velvet-cushioned casket, 

Stars could not so brightly shine ; 
But this chain of prisoned rainbows 

By and by will all be mine." 

" I have not such wondrous jewels," 

Proudly spoke another voice, 
" But I'd rather have my father, 

If I had to take my choice. 
He has grown so very famous,. — 

People almost kiss his hand, 
And, in time, I'm very certain 

He'll be ruler of the land." 

Thus ran on the eager voices, 

As they gayly had begun, 
Till some tale of wondrous treasure 

Every child had told, save one. 
" She will not have much to tell us," 

Whispered they, " poor little thing ! " 
But with smiles said blue-eyed Katie, 

" I'm the daughter of a king ! " 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 49 

Then they laughed: "O princess, tell us 

Where the king, your father, dwells ; 
Do your mighty palace portals 

Swing at touch of golden bells ? " 
Meekly answered gentle Kate, 

Pushing back a floating curl, 
" All the shining wall is golden, 

Every gate a single pearl. 

" And more glorious than the sunrise, 

Through the purple morning mist, 
Brightly glow the brave foundations, — 

Jasper, sapphire, amethyst; 
And within, — such wondrous treasures ! 
. "Oh, what happiness to see ! 
But, when home my Father calls me, 

He will give them all to me." 

Then the little maids grew thoughtful, 

And they looked with tender eyes, 
On the sweet-faced little Katie, 

Gazing upward to the skies. 
And they said, " O happy princess ! 

Listening for the great King's call, 
You have found the greatest treasure, 

You are richest of us all." 



SANDALPHON. 

Have you read in the Talmud of old, 
In the legends the Rabbins have told, 

Of the limitless realms of the air, — 
Have you read it, —the marvellous story 
Of Sandalphon, the angel of glory, 

Sandalphon, the angel of prayer ? 
4 



50 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

How, erect, at the outermost gates 
Of the city celestial he waits, 

With his feet on the ladder of light, 
That, crowded with angels unnumbered, 
By Jacob was seen, as he slumbered 

Alone in the desert, at night ? 

The angels of wind and of fire 
Chant only one hymn, and expire 

With the song's irresistible stress, — 
Expire in their rapture and wonder, 
As harp-strings are broken asunder 

By the music they throb to express. 

But, serene in the rapturous throng, 
Unmoved by the rush of the song, 

With eyes unimpassioned and slow, 
Among the dead angels, the deathless 
Sandalphon stands listening, breathless, 

To sounds that ascend from below, — 

From the spirits on earth that adore, 
From the souls that entreat and implore 

In the frenzy and passion of prayer, — 
From the hearts that are broken with losses, 
And weary with dragging the crosses 

Too heavy for mortals to bear. 

And he gathers the prayers as he stands, 
And they change into flowers in his hands, 

Into garlands of purple and red ; 
And, beneath the great arch of the portal, 
Through the streets of. the city immortal, 

Is wafted the fragrance they shed. 

It is but a legend, I know, — 
A fable, a phantom, a show 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 51 

♦ Of the ancient Rabbinical lore ; 
Yet the old mediaeval tradition, 
The beautiful, strange superstition, 

But haunts me, and holds me the more. 

When I look from my. window at night, 
And the welkin above is all white, 

All throbbing and panting with stars, 
Among them, majestic, is standing 
Sandalphon the angel, expanding 

His pinions in nebulous bars. 

And the legend, I feel, is a part 

Of the hunger and thirst of the heart, 

The frenzy and fire of the brain, 
That grasps at the fruitage forbidden, 
The golden pomegranates of Eden, 

To quiet its fever and pain., 

Atlantic Monthly. 



THE LENT JEWELS. 

In schools of wisdom all the day was spent : 

His steps at eve the Rabbi homeward bent, 

With homeward thoughts which dwelt upon the wife 

And two fair children who consoled his life. 

She, meeting at the threshold, led him in, 

And, with these words preventing, did begin: 

" Ever rejoicing at your wished return, 

Yet am I most so now ; for, since this morn, 

I have been much perplexed and sorely tried 

Upon one point, which you shall now decide. 

Some years ago, a friend unto my care 

Some jewels gave, — rich, precious gems they were, — 

But, having given them in my charge, this friend 

Did not afterwards, nor come for them, nor send, 



52 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

But left them in my keeping for so long, 
That now it almost seems to me a wrong 
That he should suddenly arrive to-day 
To take those jewels which he left, away. 
What think you ? Shall I freely yield them back 
And with no murmuring ? — so henceforth to lack 
Those gems myself whichvE had learned to see 
Almost as mine forever, mine in fee." 

" What question can be here ? Your own true heart 

Must needs advise you of the only part ; 

That may be claimed again which was but lent, 

And should be yielded with no discontent, 

Nor surely can we find herein a wrong, 

That it was left us to enjoy it long." 

" Good is the word," she answered ; " may we now 

And evermore that it is good allow ! " 

And, rising, to an inner chamber led, 

And there she showed him, stretched upon one bed, 

Two children pale : and he the jewels knew, 

Which God had lent him, and resumed anew." 

Richard Ghenevix Trench. 



THE MOTHER'S PRAYER. 

A mother's holy arms caressed 

A babe that laughed upon her breast. 

Then thus to Heaven she cried, in prayer : 
" Now even as his face is fair, 

" O Lord ! keep thou his soul within 
As free from any spot of sin," 

From heaven the Lord an answer made, 
" Behold ! I grant as thou hast prayed." 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 53 

Within her door the darkness crept, 
And babe and mother sweetly slept. 

The belfry rang the midnight bell ; 
The watchman answered, " All is well." 

Awaking at the cradle side, 

The mother knew the babe had died. 

With grief to set a woman wild, 

She caught and clasped the marble child, 

Until her heart against his own 
"Was broken, beating on a stone ! 

" O God ! " she cried, in her despair, 

" Why hast thou mocked a mother's prayer? " 

Then answered he, " As I have willed, 
Thy prayer, O woman ! is fulfilled ; 

" If on the earth thy child remain, 
His soul shall gather many a stain ; 

" At thy behest, I reach my hand 
To lift him to the heavenly land ! " 

The mother heard, and bowed her head, 
And laid her cheek against the dead, 

And cried, " O God ! I dare not pray, 
Thou answerest in so strange a way ! " 

In shadow of a taper's light 

She sat and moaned the livelong night; 

But when the morning brought the sun, 
She prayed, " Thy will, O God, be done ! " 

Theodore Tilton* 
5* 



54 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 



THE BOOK OF THANKS. 

Albert. There, I feel so vexed and out of patience with Ben, 
that I really must — 

Clara. Do something to injure him ? 

Albert. Oh, no ; that is not what I was going to say, — but 
that I must look over my " Book of Thanks." 

Clara. Book of Thanks ! what sort of a book is that I would 
like to know ? 

Albert. Here it is {taking a small book from his pocket] , and 
I will read some from it if you would like to have me. 

Clara. I certainly should. Please read. 

Albert. " March 8th. — Ben lent me his new hat." " When 
I lost my shilling Ben found it for me." " June 30th. — Ben 
invited me to go and eat some cherries in his father's garden." 
So, after all, Ben is a pretty good boy. 

Clara. Why Albert, what do you write in your book ? 

Albert. All the acts of kindness that are ever shown me, — 
and you would wonder how many there are. " I find much 
good from writing them down. I do not forget them as I might 
do if I only trusted to my memory ; so I hope I am not often 
ungrateful ; and when I am cross, or out of temper, I almost 
always feel pleasant again if I only look over my book. % 

Clara. I wonder what sort of things you put down. Will 
you let me see it, Albert ? 

Albert. Certainly, Clara. {Passing the book."] 

Clara. {Takes it and reads.] " Amos Kindly asked me to 
spend the day with him, and did all he could to make my visit 
pleasant." 

"Mrs. Day gave me some nice peaches." 

68 Freddie Churchill asked after me when I was sick, an 1 
game to see me when I was getting better." 

And I see you put " father and mother " at the top of every 
page. Why is that, Albert? 

Albert. Oh, they are so good to me, and do so much for me, 
that I cannot put it all down, and so I just write their names 
to remind me of their constant care and goodness. I know 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 55 

that I can never repay them. Read what I have put at the 

beginning of the book. 

Clara. {Reads.) " Every good gift is from above." 

Albert. That is to remind me that I owe thanks to God for 

all the blessings I enjoy. 

Clara. Well, Albert, I am much pleased with your book 

and its object. I will ask my mother to get a blank-book for 

me, and then I will keep a " Book of Thanks " too. 



THE RAIN LESSON. 

" Mother, it rains ! " and tears like rain fell down. 
" O little daughter, see the plants rejoice ; 
The rose-buds blush, and in your garden-bed 
The drooping violets look so gladly up, 
Blessing our God for rain. He knows what's best." 

" Yes, mother, he knows everything. And so 
He surely knows there's but one afternoon 
In all the week that I can have from sehool, 
And 'tis the third that I've had leave to go 
And play with Mary, if it did not rain, 
And gather wild-flowers in her father's grove, 
And now it rains again." 

The mother took 
The mourner on her knee, and kissed away 
The blinding grief. And then she told her tales 
Of the great Eastern deserts, parched and dry, 
And how the traveller, 'mid the burning sands, 
Watches for rain-clouds with a fainting gaze ; 
And showed her pictures of a caravan, 
And the poor camel with his outstretched neck 
Longing for water. 



56 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

And she told her, too, 
Of the sad mother in the wilderness, 
And the spent water-bottle ; how she laid 
Her darling son among the shrubs to die, 
Bowing her head down that she might not see 
The agony of the long death from thirst; 
And how the blessed angel, when, she prayed, 
Brought water from the skies to save her child. 

And other stories, from the Book of God, 
Breathed that kind teacher to the listening one, 
Seated so meek beside her ; how there fell 
"No rain in Israel, till the grass decayed, 
And the brooks wasted, and the cattle died ; 
And good Elijah, with his earnest prayer, 
Besought the Lord till the consenting cloud 
Gave rain,. and thankful earth her fruits restored. 

And then they sang a hymn, and, full of joy, 

The baby, crowing from his nurse's arms, 

Came in and joined them, creeping merrily 

After his little sister, till, her pain 

Of disappointment all absorbed in love, 

She thanked her mother for the pleasant time, 

And for her tender lessons. 

So, that night, 
Amid her simple prayer, they heard her say 
Words of sweet praise to Him whose mercy gives 
The blessed rain. " For now I know, dear God, 
What pleases thee is best." 

O mother! seek 
Ever, through cloud and sunshine, thus to lead 
Thy little hearts to love him ; so the tear 
Shall brighten like the rainbow here, and gleam, 
At last, a pearl-drop in thy crown of life. 

Mrs. Sigourney. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 57 



I NEVER WILL GROW OLD; 

Oh, no, I never will grow old, 
Though years on years roll by, 

And silver o'er my dark-brown hair, 
And dim my laughing eye. 

They shall not shrivel up my soul, 

Nor dim the glance of love 
My heart casts on this world of ours, 

And lifts to that above. 

In the joy and grief of every one 

I'll seek to share a part, 
Till grateful thoughts and wishes fond 

Come thronging to my heart. 

The earnest praises of the young, . 

The blessings of the old, — 
I'll gather them in, I'll hoard them up, 

As a miser hoards his gold. 

Smile on, doubt on, say life is sad, 
The world is false and cold, — 

I'll keep my heart glad, true, and warm ; 
I never will grow old. 



I WILL BE BEAUTIFUL. 

"I will be beautiful," said May, 
Lifting her soft blue eyes to heaven ; 

" Dear Lord Jesus, thou art the way, — 

I will be gentle in all I say 
And pardon as I would be forgiven ; 

I'll strive to be purer, day by day, 

And in thy strength — pray. 



58 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

I will be beautiful — in my heart ; 

Roses and lilies are fair but f adin'o* ; 
A chastened spirit is better than art 
. To give young faces sweet tint and shading. 
These for my beauty, — a voice whose tone 

Shall be to the sad like a sons: : 
An eye as ready to sparkle alone 

As when in the brilliant throng ; 
A smile as bright for the household few 

As the many in courtly hall ; 
For a smile, if 'tis happy, is always new, 

And a low voice pleaseth all. 
What matter if tresses or eyes grow dull, 
If the heart be holy 'tis beautiful. 



EVERY-DAY RELIGION. 

[Enter Charles and Henry.] 

Charles. Come, Henry, aren't you going to Sunday school? 

Henry. No ; my father said I needn't go any more, and you 
won't see me there again. 

Charles. Why not, Henry ? 

Henry. Because I don't want to go ! 

Charles. You used to like it. 

Henry. I like to hear the teacher read stories very well, 
when they are not too pious ; but I don't think much of the rest 
of his talk. What is the good of going ? 

Charles. What's the good of it ? Don't you want to under- 
stand your duty ? 

Henry. Of course I do. 

Charles. And when you understand it, you want to do it, — 
don't you ? 

Henry. To be sure I do. 

Charles. Well, then, the Sunday school will help you to 
understand and to do your duty. . 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 59 

Henry. Pooh ! Do you think I don't know my duty now ? 

Charles. That is for you to answer, and not for me ! But 
do you feel as though you always did your whole duty ? 

Henry. Yes, I think I do. 

Charles. I am very glad that you understand and do your 
duty so well ; but, for my part, I don't know how I should get 
through the week if I did not go to Sunday school. 

Henry. What do you mean by that? 

Charles. It gives me strength to resist temptation. My 
teacher tells me of my duty to God and man, and he urges me 
so kindly and so earnestly to do my duty, that the lesson goes 
with me through the week as a kind of inspiration to keep me 
in the right path. 

Henry. He tells you not to tell lies, cheat, steal, or anything 
of that sort ; but I know all these things without any telling. 

Charles. So do I ; but the teacher tells me something more 
than merely not to do them. You wouldn't steal, Henry? 

Henry. Of course I wouldn't. 

Charles. Why wouldn't you steal ? 

Henry. Because I wouldn't. 

Charles. But why not? 

Henry. Why wouldn't I steal ? Well, that's a queer ques- 
tion. Why wouldn't I steal ? 

Charles. Why wouldn't you ? Please to answer me, Henry. 

Henry. Why, I should be sent to jail if I did steal. 

Charles. Then if it were not for being sent to jail you would 
steal? 

Henry. No, I don't know that I would. 

Charles. You don't know that you would ? 

Henry. You are pretty sharp with your catechism. Let me 
try a little. Would you steal if there were no punishment for 
it? 

Charles. I would not. 

Henry. Why not? 

Charles. Because it is wrong to steal ; because God, through 
Jesus Christ, commanded me to love my neighbor as myself; 
and I cannot love him and steal from him. A. boy that would 



. 60 TRE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

not steal, or do any other wrong act, because he fears the pun- 
ishment, isn't much better than a heathen. 

Henry. Oh, don't preach, Charles ! 

Charles. I don't preach ; I was only answering your ques- 
tion. I am afraid, if I had no better motive than the fear of 
punishment to keep me from sin -and wrong, I should be a 
worse boy than I am. 

Henri/. Don't you believe more folks would steal than do 
now if there was no punishment for it ? 

Charles. I am sure of it. And if more people carried their 
religion into their e very-day life, less people would steal 
than do now. And what is true of stealing is true of all kinds 
of sin and wrong. 

Henry. I never understood religion to mean such things 
as that. I always thought it meant reading the Bible, saying 
prayers, and singing hymns. 

Charles. It means all these things, for religion is the love of 
God and the love of man. If we love God, we must delight 
to read his Book, and to commune with him in prayer and 
song. In loving him we love our fellow-beings, for they are 
his children ; and, if we love them, we must deal justly and 
kindly with them. 

Henry. Somehow what you have said looks right to me, 
and I think I will go to Sunday school with you. I never 
thought religion had anything to do with every-day life. 

Charles. Everything ; but it is time to go, and we will talk 
more another time. \_Exeunt.~] 

William T. Adams. 



THE IMMORTAL CROWN. 

A crown for the blessed Saviour ! 

A crown for the sinless King ! 
Souls of the just and holy 

Are gems that the angels bring. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 61 

Little innocent children 

Borne from our saddened view, — 
They are the shining Sapphires, 

Pure as the heavenly hue. 

Those who in life's dewy morning 

Willingly take death's hand, 
Turned without pang or murmur 

From earth to the better land, — 

Ever before death's summons 

Seeking the footprints of truth, — 
They are the Amethysts glowing 

With purple hopes of their youth. 

Those in a right cause falling, 

Pouring their blood like wine, — 
They are the sparkling Eubies 

Set by an artist divine. 

Souls of the fair and gentle 

Hovering between two worlds, 
Wounded, yet pleasantly singing, — 

These are the delicate Pearls. 

They who have met temptation 

And passed unpolluted by ; 
Who've kindly aided the erring, 

From sinful pleasures to fly ; 

Have been meek when clothed in power, 

And patient under the rod, — 
These are the priceless Diamonds, 

Filled with a light from God. 

Many, with lives all clouded, 

Silently filled up the hours 
With little good deeds unnumbered, 

Changing to beautiful flowers. 



62 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

None but themselves saw the background, 
Serving to throw out the soul, — 

They are the pictured Mosaics, — 
Parts of a glorious whole. 

A crown for the blessed Saviour ! 

A crown for the sinless King ! 
Souls growing brighter and purer, 

Are we all striving to bring ? 

Monthly Religious Magazine. 



WAITING FOR A BLESSING. 

Sitting at the heavenly portal, 

Waits she day and night, 
Seeking from the tender Father 

Health and strength and light. 

Seasons coming, seasons going, 

Find her waiting there ; 
Year on year, successive rolling, 

Hears the earnest prayer. 

" Grant me, O thou gracious Parent," 

Pleads she day by clay, 
" Health and power once more to serve thee 

On my homeward way. 

" Gladly would I lay before thee 

Deeds of active love ; 
Thus, by service towards thy children, 

Love to thee would prove. 

" But if weakness still enthrall me, 

Give me heavenly light ; 
Through the paths of lowliest duty 

Guide my steps aright. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 63 



• 



" Let me not despise the mission, 

Gentle words to speak ; 
Pit}' offering to the fallen ; 

Comfort to the weak. 

" Slighting not the humblest power 

Kindly lent me still, 
Like the starlight and the dew-drop, 

I would do thy will. 

" Thus may dust and ashes praise thee, 

Till new vigor come, 
Or this frame, its hold releasing, 

Send my spirit home." 

So she sitteth, watching, praying, 

At the heavenly gate, 
.Knowing that the good All-Father 
Blesseth those who wait. 



THE HOME TEMPLE. 

I sing no temple darkly grand, 
With classic arch and shrine, 

Around whose crumbling columns gray 
The mantling ivies twine. 

'Tis not the proud cathedral, where, 
Through vaulted dome, uprise 

The organ's peal, and anthem's note, 
To reach the echoing skies ; 

Nor yet the simple village fane, 
Its altar decked with flowers, 

Whence the Creator's praise floats forth 
On the calm Sabbath hours. 



64 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 



• 



Not e'en the grove, beneath whose roof 

First rose the breath of prayer, 
With aroma of bud and leaf, 

Upon the incensed air. 

E'en than all these a holier spot, 

More sacred temple mine, — 
'Tis the home-altar sending up 

Love offerings from its shrine. 

The parent priest, the sacrifice 

Of grateful, contrite hearts, 
Offers to Him who every good 

And perfect gift imparts. 

A youthful choir, their voices blend „ 

In songs of praise, and near, 
The holiest of confessionals, 

They find a mother's ear. 

The fairest, purest emblem this 

Of the celestial home, 
Where angel's voice and seraph's harp 

Blend round the Father's throne. 

Mrs. A. B. Fuller. 



JESUS OF NAZARETH. 

A little child, at early day 
Woke up with laughter, shout, and play ; 
A being for whose future years 
Were shadowed loves and toils and tears : 
Her song was soft and sweet and low, 
With meanings more than she could know ; 
Her lisping tongue could scarcely frame 
The tender chorus and the name, — 
" Jesus of Nazareth." 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 65 

The dew lay sunbright on the flowers, 
When from a maiden's garden bower 
There came, like gladdest trill of birds, 
A gush of song, a voice of words, 
Yet hoi}', reverent as the air 
That bears a spirits wing in prayer ; 
And, as my ear caught up the strain, 
I heard the child's most sweet refrain, — 
" Jesus of Nazareth." 

A mourner paused at noon to rest, 
With drooping eye and wounded breast ; 
The shade above, the stream beside, 
The desert traveller's want supplied. 
Then rose a note of wayside cheer, — 
The maiden's tones, subdued, yet clear. 
I listened to the blest repeat, 
Where praise and supplication meet, — 
" Jesus of Nazareth." 

The night fell with its shadows deep, 
Where lay a pilgrim down to sleep ; 
The staff dropped from her idle hand, 
Her sandals loosened on the sand, — 
The traveller's day of toil was past, 
The swan's good-night attained at last : 
A breaking tone, a shattered string, 
Still held the music murmuring, — 
" Jesus of Nazareth." 

The midnight came with chill and gloom, 
And sounds and odors of the tomb : 
But lo ! above a sepulchre 
There shone a glory light afar ; 
And as, beyond the morning stars, 
Were oped for her the crystal bars, 
The golden lyres let down their strain, — 
The saint's new song, the child's refrain, — 
" Jesus of Nazareth." 
5 E. L. E. 



66 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 



COMPOUND INTEREST. 

Ben Ahdam had a golden coin one day, 
.Which he put out at interest with a Jew; 

Year after year, awaiting him it lay, 
Until the doubled coin two pieces grew, 

And these two, four — so on, till people said, 

How rich Ben Ahdam is ! and bowed the servile head. 

Ben Selim had a golden coin that day, 
Which, to a stranger asking alms, he gave, 

Who went rejoicing on his unknown way, 
Ben Selim died, too poor to own a grave ; 

But when his soul reached heaven, angels with pride 

Showed him the wealth to which his coin had multiplied. 

Mrs. M. V. Victor. 



THE BEGGAR. 

A beggar through the world am I, 
From place to place I wander by ; 
Fill up my pilgrim's scrip for me, 
For Christ's sweet sake and charity. 

A little of thy steadfastness, 
Rounded with leafy gracefulness, 

Old oak, give me, — 
That the world's blasts may round me blow, 
And I yield gently to and fro, 
While my stout-hearted trunk below 

And firm-set roots unshaken be. 

Some of thy stern, unyielding might, 
Enduring still through day and night 
Rude tempest-shock and withering blight, — 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 67 

That I may keep at bay 
The changeful April sky of chance, 
And the strong tide of circumstance, — 

Give me, old granite gray. 

Some of thy pensiveness serene, 
Some of thy never dying-green 

Put in this scrip of mine, — 
That griefs may fall like snow-flakes light, 
And deck me in a robe of white, 
Ready to be an angel bright, — 

O sweetly mournful pine ! 

A little of thy merriment, 

Of thy sparkling,. light content, 

Give me, my cheerful brook, — 
That I may still be full of glee 
And gladsomeness, where'er I be, 
Though fickle fate hath prisoned, me 

In some neglected nook. 

Ye have been very kind and good 
To me since I've been in the wood ; 

Ye have gone nigh to fill my heart ; 
But good-by, kind friends, every one, 
I've far to go ere set of sun. 

Of all good things I would have part ; 

The day was high ere I could start, 
And so my journey's scarce begun. 

Heaven help me ! how could I forget 
To beg of thee, dear violet? 

Some of thy modesty, 
That blossoms here as well, unseen, 
As if before the world thou'dst been, 

Oh, give, to strengthen me. 

James Russell Lowell. 



68 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 



CARVING A NAME. 

I wrote my name upon the sand 
And trusted it would stand for aye, 

But soon, alas ! the refluent sea 
Had washed my feeble lines away. 

I carved my name upon the wood, 
And, after years, returned again; 

I missed the shadow of the tree 

That stretched of old upon the plain. 

To solid marble next, my name 

I gave as a perpetual trust ; 
An earthquake rent it to its base, 

And now it lies o'erlaid with dust. 

All these have failed. In wiser mood, 
I tuy,n and ask myself, " What then?" 

If I would have my name endure, 
I'll write it on the hearts of men, — 

In characters of living light, 

Of kindly deeds and actions wrought, 

And these, beyond the touch of Time, 
Shall live immortal as my thought. 

Horatio Alger, Jr. 



THE SHADOWS OF TWILIGHT. 

Slowly, slowly up the wall, 

Steals the sunshine, steals the shade ; 
Evening damps begin to fall, 

Evening shadows are displayed, 
Round me, o'er me, everywhere, 

All the sky is grand with clouds ; 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 69 

And, athwart the evening air, 

Wheel the swallows home in crowds. 
Shafts of sunshine, from the west, 

Paint the dusty windows red ; 
Darker shadows, deeper rest 

Underneath and overhead. 
Darker, darker, and more wan 

In my breast the shadows fall. 
Upward steals the life of man, 
. As the sunshine from j;he wall, 
From the wall into the sky, 

From the roof along the spire ; 
Ah ! the souls of those that die 

Are but sunbeams lifted higher. 

Henry W. Longfellow. 



THE CHRISTIAN AND HIS ECHO. 

[To be spoken by two persons. The one who takes the echo must be con- 
cealed, and must imitate as much as possible the other speaker's tone,— though 
the echo should be given in a lighter voice.] 

Christian. True faith, producing love to God and man, 

Say, Echo, is not this the Gospel plan ? 
Echo. The Gospel plan. 

Christian. Must I my faith and love to Jesus show, 

By doing good to all, both friend and foe ? 
Echo. Both friend and foe. 

Christian. But if a brother hates, and treats me ill, 

Must I return him good, and love him still? 
Echo. Love him still. 

Christian. If he my failings watches to reveal, 

Must I his faults as carefully conceal ? 
Echo. As carefully conceal. 



70 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

Christian. But if my name and character he blast, 
And cruel malice, too, a long time last; 
And if I sorrow and affliction know 
He loves to add unto my cup of woe ; 
In this uncommon, this peculiar case, 
Sweet Echo, say, must I still love and bless? 
Echo. Still love and bless. 

Christian. Whatever usage ill I may receive, 

Must I be patient still, and still forgive? 
Echo. Be patient still, and still forgive. 

Christian. Why Echo, how is this ? Thou'rt sure a dove ! 

Thy voice shall teach me nothing else but love ! 
Echo. Nothing else but love. 

Christian. Amen ! with all my heart, then be it so ; 

'Tis all delightful, just, and good, I know, 
And now to practise, I'll directly go. 

Echo. Directly go. 

Christian. Things being so, whoever me reject, 

My gracious God me surely will protect. 
Echo. Surely will protect. 

Christian. Henceforth I'll roll on Him my every care ; 

And then both friend and foe embrace in prayer. 
Echo. Embrace in prayer. 

Christian. Echo, enough ! thy counsels to mine ear 

Are sweeter than to flowers the dewdrop tear ; 
Thy wise, instructive lessons please me well ; 
I'll go and practise them. Farewell, farewell. 

Echo. Practise them. Farewell, farewell. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 71 



DRAWING WATER. 

I had drunk, with lip unsated, 

Where the founts of pleasure burst ; 

I had hewn out broken cisterns, 
And they mocked my spirit's thirst : 

And I said, life is a desert, 

Hot and measureless and dry ; 
And God will not give me water, 

Though I pray, and faint, and die. 

Spoke there then a friend and brother, 

"Rise and roll the stone away; 
There are founts of life upspringing 

In thy pathway every day." 

Then I said my heart was sinful, 

Very sinful was my speech ; 
All the wells of God's salvation 

Are too deep for me to reach. 

And he answered, "Rise and labor, — 

Doubt and idleness is death ; 
Shape thee out a goodly vessel 

With the strong hands of thy faith." 

So I wrought and shaped the vessel, 

Then knelt lowly, humbly there, 
And I drew up living water 

With the golden chain of prayer. 

Phoebe Carey. 



THE STREET CALLED STRAIGHT. 

Can you see the beautiful street, 
The wonderful street called straight? 
At the end is the jasper gate ; 

The path is marked by the feet 



72 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

Of the saints and martyrs who marched 

On to the city of God ; 

O'er briers and thistles they trod, 
Through deserts sandy and parched, 

Till they found the beautiful street 

With trees of cedar and palm ; 

And their tremulous hearts grew calm 
When they saw the vision sweet. 
Pray that we, too, may find the street ; 

Oh, pray we may walk therein. 

With spirits unclouded by sin, 
May we kneel and the Master greet. 

Christian Inquirer. 



THE SISTER BAND. 

[Those taking part in this piece should all be dressed in white muslin. They 
should each wear a crown, on which their names Love, Joy, etc., are in- 
scribed in gilt letters. Or they may wear a ribbon passing from the waist, on 
the right side, to the left shoulder, where it is tied. On the front may be 
sewed, or pasted, letters cut from gilt paper forming the name of each. 
Whichever are used, crowns or ribbons, they should all be alike, — other- 
wise a bad effect is produced.] 



Love, 


Long-Suffering, 


Faith, 


Joy, 


Gentleness, 


Meekness, 


Peace, 


Goodness, 


Temperance. 



Love. I came the first of a radiant band 

♦ Sent out on the earth by God's own hand ; 
I came, ere the breath of life was given 
To him who was made in the image of Heaven. 
But darkness rose, and the serpent's breath 
On the garden fell, with the scourge of death ! 
Our band was broken, — and since that hour 
We've met no more as in Eden's bower. 
Our meetings are short, and we find no home, 
But apart o'er the world our spirits roam, 
And the spirit of Love is ofttimes lone. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

[Enter Joy.] 

Joy. Not now alone, — thy sister is here, 

The next who came to this mortal sphere. 

We meet not oft, — the last was where 

Two hearts were pledged with vow and prayer; 

I tarried not long, — I might not stay 

When light and hope were passing away ! 

How long dost thou thy vigil keep, 

With hearts that niourn, and eyes that weep? 

Love. I stayed till the last low prayer, was said, 
And the living stood by the silent dead ; 
And our sister Peace, who cometh now, 

[Peace enters.] 

With her soft, bright eye, and holy brow, 
I left her there by the mourner's side 
To soothe the heart so sorely tried. 

[Turning toward Peace.] 

Sweet sister, oh, say, hast thou found a home ? 
Has the world a spot thou canst call thy own ? 

Peace. Sisters, we met at the infant's bed, 
O'er his rosy sleep my spirit I shed, 
And left ye there, and to manhood turned, — 
His cheek was flushed and his forehead burned ; 
Too much of earthly passion was there, 
And I turned where a maiden knelt in prayer, 
And I dwelt with her till her spirit fled, 
And the mortal frame lay still and dead. 
But 'twas not my home, and, sister sweet, 
I pined for a spot where we all might meet. 

Love and Joy. Long time we stood by that infant's bed ; 
O'er his rosy path our spirits shed, 
And scattered flowers around his way, 
And taught his little hands to play. 



74 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

We watched him well till manhood came, 
And with it ardent hopes of fame ; 
Till his soul grew sick in his weary way, 
Till his heart almost forgot to pray. 
We left him then with his empty name, 
For Love and Joy dwell not with fame. 
» 

[Enter Long-Suffering.] 

Long- Suffering. Hail, sisters sweet ! we meet once more ; 

Have ye found a home, — are your wanderings o'er? 

For I fain would rest ; — I come from a scene, 

Where, my sisters sweet, ye all have been ; — 

A close, a darkened, a stifled room, 

Where sorrow and sickness have found a home, 

There's an aching brow, there's a breaking heart, 

There's a soul that longs from earth to part, 

Still bearing on, as it ever hast, 

Through all the woes of the bitter past, 

And, murmuring not, but in deepest trust, 

Awaiting the mandate, " Dust to dust ! n 

Twin sisters sweet ! I left ye there, — 

Has he met his God with trustful prayer P 

[Enter Gentleness and Goodness.] 

Gentleness and Goodness. He waiteth the summons ; 

And calmly he lies, 
As lieth the clouds 

In the sunset skies ; 
And calmly as sinketh 

The sun to his rest, 
So sinketh he now 

On his Master's breast. 
We have smoothed his pillow, 

And cheered his heart, 
And taken from death 

The bitterest smart ; 
We left him with Faith, 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. lb 

• 
[Enter Faith.] 

And she cometh now, 

With her beaming eye, 

And her glorious brow. 

Faith. He has gone to his God, — triumphant he passed ! 
Undimmed is his glory, —high trust to the last. 
I stpod t^r his side till the last look was given ; 
I stood by his side till his soul was in heaven. 
Why meet we here ? Can we find no home ? 
Hath the earth no place we can call our own ? 
Hath the world no spot where we all may dwell, 
And know not, and fear not, a sad farewell ? 

[Enter Meekness.] 
Say, sister meek, what tale dost thou bring, — 
Through what scenes hast thou passed, with thy gen- 
tle wing? 

Meekness. The gentle of earth 

My spirit loves best ; 
With the young and pure 

I find sweet rest. 
I soar not afar, — 

My flights are not high, — 
I dwell in a tone, 

In the glance of the eye, 
In the mother, who gazes 

With heartfelt joy, 
And watches the sports 

Of her infant boy. 

Faith. But sister, sweet sister ! I've met thee oft, — 
Thy voice is so low, and thy tone so soft, 
Thou art loved by all, and the glad and gay, 
Both welcome thy coming, and urge thy stay. 
But the last of our sister band is nigh, 
With her glad, free step, and joyous eye, 
As if she had brought whole realms at her feet, — 
Say, what are thy tidings, sister sweet? 



76 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

[Enter Temperance.] 

Temperance. Sisters, all hail ! and I am the last ! 
O'er all the world has my spirit passed. 
The work has begun, the mighty, the strong, 
And nations have Messed it ; and long is the song 
Which swells o'er the earth. The wicked hath turned 
From his wayward path ; and the heart that spurned 
At all that is good is a suppliant now*, 
And low at the feet of a Saviour must bow. 
Do we meet to rejoice ? Oh, there is deep joy 
When the mother weeps o'er her penitent boy ! 
Do we meet to mourn o'er the sins of earth ? 
Then gird on our armor, and go we forth, 
To soften the hearts of mankind by our power, 
For high is our gift, and glorious our dower ; — 
But which of our band, oh, say, can tell 
Where again we shall meet and not say farewell ? 

Faith. If we all meet again 

On the earth ne'er to part, 
Sweet sisters, 'twill be 

In the Christian's heart; 
But the home of our spirit 
On earth is not given ; 
It is with our God 
Mid the glories of heaven. 

N. T, Monroe. 



GRADATIM. 

Heaven is not reached at a single bound ; 
But we build the ladder by which we rise, 
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, 

And we mount to its summit, round by round. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 77 

I count this thing to be grandly true ; 

That a noble deed is a step toward God, 

Lifting the soul from the common sod, 
To a purer air and a broader view. 

We rise by things that are under feet, 
By what we have mastered of good and gain ; 
By the pride deposed and passion slain, 

And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet. 

We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust, 
When the morning calls us to life and light ; 
But our hearts grow weary, and ere the night 

Our lives are trailing in the sordid dust. 

Wings for the angels, but feet for the men ! 

We may borrow the wings to find the way ; 

We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and pray; 
But our feet must rise, or we fall again. 

Only in dreams is a ladder thrown 
From the weary earth to the sapphire walls ; 
But the dreams depart and the ladder falls, 

And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone. 

Heaven is not reached at a single bound ; 
But we build the ladder by which we rise 
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, 

And we mount to its summit, round by round. 

J. G. Holland. 



WHOM, NOT HAVING SEEN, WE LOVE. 

It is easy to love when eye meets eye, 

And the glance reveals the heart, 
When the flush on the cheek can the soul bespeak, 

And the lips in gladness part ; 



78 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

There's a thrilling of bliss in a loving kiss, 

And a spell in a kindly tone, 
And the spirit hath claims of tenderness 

To fetter and bind its own. 

But a holier spell and a deeper joy 

From a purer fountain flow, 
When the soul sends higher its incense fire, 

And rests no more below ; 
When the heart goes up to the gate of heaven, 

And bows before the throne, 
And, striking its harp for sins forgiven, 

Calls the Saviour all its own. 

Though we gaze not now on the lovely brow 

That felt for us the thorn ; 
Though afar from home we pilgrims roam, 

And our feet with toil are worn ; 
Though we never have pressed that pierced hand, 

It is stretched our lives above ; 
And we own his care, in grateful prayer, 

" Whom, not having seen, we love." 

We have felt him near, for many a year, 

When at eve we bent the knee • 
That mercy breath, that glorious faith, 

Dear Saviour, came from thee. 
When we stood beside the dying bed, 

And watched the loved one go, 
In the darkening hour, we felt his power, 

As it hushed the waves of woe. 

And still, as we climb the hills of time, 

And the lamps of earth grow dim, 
We are hastening on from faith to sight, 

We are pressing near to him ; - 
And away from idols of earthly mould, 

Enraptured we gaze above, 
And long to be where his arms enfold, 

"Whom, not having seen, we love." 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 79 



THE LOST POCKET-BOOK. 

Charles. [Walking along, reading slowly.'] " Columbus set 
out on 'his great enterprise to discover America, under the 
patronage of the crown of Spain, on the 3d of August, 1492. " 
[Closing his book.] Well, I've studied that history lesson 
about twenty times, and I don't believe I shall ever learn it. 
The fact is, studying doesn't agree with me. And what good 
it does any one is more than I can tell. I'm sure I don't care a* 
straw who discovered America. Sometimes I wish it never 
had been discovered, and I was in Patagonia or Ethiopia, 
where people don't bother themselves about such things. 

George. [Entering.'] So you would rather live in Ethiopia 
than Massachusetts, Charles? I can't say I admire your 
taste. 

Charles. Why, not exactly that ; but I should like to go to 
some place where no such thing as studying was ever heard 
of. 

George. Then I'm afraid you'd have to stay there, for you 
wouldn't feel very comfortable to come back, and find your- 
self in the midst of people so much better informed than you 
were. 

Charles. [Impatiently.'] I know you are willing to give up 
all your time to dry study, and I suppose you'll become a 
minister some day, but pray don't commence your preaching 
now. [Picks up a paper package, which he looks at with curi- 
osity.] 

George. [Smiling.] If I were going to do so, I think I 
should look for a more promising subject to commence with. 
But what have you found ? 

Charles. [Tearing off a bit of paper.] A pocket-book ; but I 
don't believe there's any money in it. [Takes off the paper, 
and opens it.] Yes, there is. [Counting.] Fifty, seventy-five, I 
a dollar. There's a dollar and a half, here, George. Aint I 
in luck ? 

George. Yes, I think you are. But you would be still more 
fortunate if you could find the owner. 



80 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

Charles. I shan't trouble myself about that. Whoever has 
lost it won't expect to find it again. And it isn't a large sum, 
any way. 

George. That depends on circumstances. It wouldn't be 
much for Mr. Conant, the storekeeper ; but Mrs. Lee, the 
seamstress, might be greatly distressed by its loss. 

Charles. Well, I think I shall keep it. I don't know of 
anybody that needs it more than I do. It's just about enough 
k to buy a nice four-bladed knife, down to Conant's. [Puts it 
into Ms pocket.'] 

George. But you wouldn't enjoy the knife much, if you had 
it, Charles, knowing that the money you paid for it didn't 
really belong to you. 

[Enter Gracie Lee, crying, and looking around,as if in search 
for something.'] 

George. What's the matter, Gracie ? What are you crying 
for? 

Grace. For my mother's pocket-book. I lost it somewhere 
near here. Have any of you boys seen it? 

Charles. What sort of one was it, Gracie ? And how much 
money was there in it ? 

Grace. It was a black one, and was wrapped in a piece of 
paper. There was a dollar and a half in it, that Miss Gould 
paid her for doing some work. 

Charles. What would your mother do if she shouldn't find 
it? 

Grace. [Bursting out afresh.] If I don't find it we shan't 
have any supper. It's all the money we had in the world. 
Mother said if I brought it home safe, she'd buy some nice, 
warm rolls to-night. But it's lost, and mother'll feci so bad 
about it. 

George. [Aside.] You'd better tell her, Charles. 

Charles. [Aside.] Not quite yet. [Turning toward Grace.] 
If you shouldn't have any supper to-night, would you be very 
hungry ? 

Grace. Yes, we should be very hungry, I know ; but maybe 
some sparrows might bring us food. Or, perhaps, it would 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 81 

come down the chimney. Any way, I know God wouldn't let 
us starve. 

Charles, /found your pocket-book, Gracie. 

Grace. Did you? Did you, really, Charles? How happy I 
am ! Didn't I tell you God wouldn't let us starve ? 

Charles. [Handing her the pocket-book.'] Yes, here it is, 
and not a cent gone from it. 

Grace* Oh, thank you, thank you, Charles, I'm so glad. I'm 
as happy as Susy Fisher was, when she saw her father coming 
after her. 

Charles. How was that, Gracie ? 

Grace. Why, she hated to go to school, so she ran away in 
the woods, to live with the robins and the gay little squirrels ; 
but when night came, and the birds and squirrels had all gone 
to bed, she was glad enough to see her father coming to find 
her. But I must run home and tell mother the good news 
aboutJ:he money. Good-night, boys. 

Both hoys. Good-night, Gracie. [Exit Grace.] 

Charles. She seemed quite happy at finding the pocket- 
book again, didn't she ? 

George. Yes. How much better it was to restore the 
money to 'the rightful owner than to buy the nicest knife in 
Conant's store, and to feel all the time as if it didn't really 
belong to you. 

Charles. I know that was the right way. But then that 
knife was such a nice one ! 

George. I don't doubt it. But think how many things Mrs. 
Lee and Grace are obliged to do without, which they need far 
more than you need the knife. 

Charles. It must be terrible to be so poor. After all, I 
believe I'd rather Gracie should have the money. She's a nice 
little girl. 

George. And the feeling that you have returned the money 
to them, and thereby made- them happy, will give you great 
pleasure whenever you think of it. I am sure you will never 
regret doing this kind action, although you receive no more 
valuable reward than Grade's earnest thanks. 

6 0. Augusta Cheney. 



82 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 



JERUSALEM, THE GOLDEN. 

Jerusalem, the golden, 

I languish for one gleam, 
Of all thy glory folden 

In distance and in dream. 
My thoughts, like palms in exile, 

Climb up to look, and pray 
For a glimpse of that dear country 

That lies so far away. 

Jerusalem, the golden, 

Methinks each flower that blows, 
And every bird a-singing, 

Of thee some secret knows. 
I know not what the flowers 

Can feel, or singers see ; 
But all the summer's raptures 

Are prophecies of thee. 

Jerusalem, the golden, 

When the sunset's in the west, 
It seems thy gate of glory, 

Thou city of the blest ! 
And midnight's starry torches, 

Through intermediate gloom, 
Are waving with their welcome 

To thy eternal home. 

Jerusalem, the golden, 

Where loftily they sing, 
O'er pain and sorrow olden 

Forever triumphing ; 
Lowly may be thy portal, 

And dark may be thy door, 
The mansion is immortal, — 

God's palace for the poor. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 83 

Jerusalem, the golden, 

There all our birds that flew, 
Our flowers but half unfolden, 

Our pearls that turned to dew, 
And all the glad life music, 

Now heard no longer here, 
Shall come again to greet us, 

As we are drawing near. 

Jerusalem, the golden, 

I toil on, day by day : 
Heart-sore each night with longing, 

I stretch my hands and pray 
That 'midst thy leaves of healing 

My soul may find her rest ; 
Where the wicked cease from troubling, 

And the weary are at rest. 



EMIR HASSAN. 

Emir Hassan, of the prophet's race, 

Asked, with folded hands, the Almighty's grace ; 

Then within the banquet-hall he sat, 

At his meal, upon the embroidered mat. 

There a slave before him placed the food, 
Spilling from the charger, as he stood, 
Awkwardly upon the Emir's breast, 
Drops that foully stained the silken vest. 

To the floor, in great remorse and dread, 
Fell the slave, and thus, beseeching, said : 
" Master, they who hasten to restrain 
Rising wrath, in paradise shall reign." 

Gentle was the answer Hassan gave : 

" I'm not angry." — " Yet," pursued the slave, 



84 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

" Yet doth higher recompense belong 
To the injured who forgives a wrong." — 

" I forgive," said Hassan. " Yet we read," — 
So the prostrate slave went on to plead, — 
" That a higher seat in glory still 
Waits the man who renders good for ill." — 

" Slav§, receive thy freedom, and behold 
In thy hand I lay a purse of gold, 
Let me never fail to heed, in aught, 
What the prophet of our God hath taught." 

William Cullen Bryant. 



MY NAME. 

" After you have taken your new name among the angels." 

In the land where I am going 

When my earthly life is o'er, 
When the tired hands cease their striving, 

And the tried heart aches no more, — 
In that land of light and beauty, 

Where no shadow ever came 
To overcloud the perfect glory, — 

What shall be my angel name ? 

When the spirits who await me 

Meet me at my entering in, 
With what name of love and music 

Will their welcoming «begin ? 
Not the one so dimmed with earth-stains, 

Linked with thoughts of grief and blame, - 
No, the name which mortals give me ' 

Will not be my angel name ! 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 85 

I have heard it all too often 

Uttered by unloving lips, — • 

Earthly cares, and sins, and sorrows, 

Dim it with their dark eclipse. 
I shall change it like a garment 

When I leave this mortal frame, 
And, at Life's immortal baptism, 

I shall have another name ! 

For the angels will not call me 

By the name I bear on earth ; 
They will speak a holier language 

Where I have my holier birth ; 
Syllabled in heavenly music, 

Sweeter far than earth may claim, 
Very gentle, pure, and tender, — 

Such will be my angel name. 

It has thrilled my spirit often 

In the holiest of my dreams ; 
But its beauty lingers with me 

Only till the morning beams. 
Weary of the jarring discord 

Which the lips of mortals frame, 
When shall I with joy and rapture 

Answer to my angel name ? 

Florence Percy. 



UPLIFTED HANDS. 

Before the throne of grace, what bands 
Are daily lifting up their hands ! 
How many e}'es are turning there, 
How many lips are moved in prayer ! 

The hoary-headed sage, the boy, 
Elate with dreams of manhood's joy ; 



86 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

The matron, bowed with earthly care ; 
Th^niaiden with unfrosted hair ; 

The child whose little clasped hands rest 
Lightly against his mother's breast, 
As, kneeling on her knees, he prays, 
Following the simple prayer she says ; — 

All these uplift their hands, — all kneel, — 
To which wilt Thou thyself reveal ? 
Is the child's prayer more innocent 
Than that with older feelings blent ? 

* 
Not unto them whose worship goes 
No farther than these outward shows ; 
Not to the formalist or proud * 
Shall answering blessings be allowed. 

To him who kneels in lowliest trust, 
Most humbled in the deepest dust; 
Yet most exalted in his faith, 
Most shielded from the fear of death, — 

To him Thy presence shall be known, 
To him Thy favor shall be shown, 
Who brings Thee, knowing what thou art, 
Uplifted hands, uplifted heart ! 

Mary Ann Browne. 



PEACE. 



Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell ? I humbly crave, — 

Let me once know. 
I sought thee in a secret cave, 

And asked if Peace were there. 
A hollow wind did seem to answer, " No ; 

Go seek elsewhere." 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 87 

I did ; and, going, did a rainbow note ; 

Surely, thought I, 
This is the lace of Peace's coat ; 

I will search out the matter. 
But, while I looked, the clouds immediately 

Did break and scatter. 

Then went I to a garden, and did spy 

A gallant flower ; 
The Crown Imperial : " Sure," said I, 

" Peace at the root must dwell." 
But, when I digged, I saw a worm devour 

What showed so well. 

At length I met a reverend, good old man, 

Who, when for Peace 
I did demand, he thus began : 

" There was a Prince of old 
At Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase 

Of flock and fold. 

He sweetly lived ; yet sweetness did not save 

His life from foes. 
But, after death, out of his grave 

There sprang twelve stalks of wheat, 
Which many, wondering at, got some of those 

To plant and set. 

It prospered strangely, and did soon disperse 

Through all the earth ; 
For they that taste it, do rehearse 

That virtue lies therein, — 
A secret virtue, bringing peace and mirth 

By flight of sin. 

Take of this grain which in my garden grows, 

And grows for you ; 
Make bread of it; and that repose 



88 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

And peace, which everywhere 
With so much earnestness you do pursue, 
Is only there." 

George Herbert. 



THE TWO KECORDING ANGELS. 

[To be personated by two young girls. It is more effective if both are dressed in 
white, and have wings. Whenever the book is spoken of, the eyes should 
be directed toward it, and whenever God is spoken of they should be raised 
upward. If a curtain is used, it should fall immediately after the last word is 
spoken.] 

[The Angel of Good Deeds with closed book.] 

O beauty of holiness, 

Of self-forgetfulness, of lowliness ! 

O power of meekness, 

Whose very gentleness and weakness 

Are like the yielding, but irresistible air I 

Upon the pages 

Of the sealed volume that I bear, 

The deed divine 

Is written in characters of gold, 

That never shall grow old, 

But through all ages 

Burn and shine 

With soft effulgence. 

O God ! it is thy indulgence 

That fills the world with the bliss 

Of a good deed like this ! 

[The Angel of Evil Deeds, with open book.] 

Not yet, not yet 

Is the red sun wholly set, 

But evermore recedes, 

While open still, I bear 

The Book of Evil Deeds, 

To let the breathings of the upper air 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 89 

Visit its pages, and erase 

The records from its face ! 

Fainter and fainter, as I gaze 

In the broad blaze, 

The glimmering landscape shines, 

And, below me, the black river 

Is hidden by wreaths of vapor ! 

Fainter and fainter the black lines 

Begin to quiver 

Along the whitening surface of the paper ; 

Shade after shade 

The terrible words grow faint and fade, 

And in their place 

Euns a white space ! 

Down goes the sun ! 

But -the soul of one, 

Who by repentance 

Has escaped the dreadful sentence, 

Shines bright, below me, as I look. 

It is the end ! 

With closed Book 

To God do I ascend. 

From Longfellow's Golden Legend. 



THE VAUDOIS TEACHER. 

*' O lady fair, these silks of mine are beautiful and rare, — 

The richest web of the Indian loom which beauty's queen 
might wear; 

And my pearls are pure as thy own fair neck with whose radi- 
ant light they vie ; 

I have brought them with me a weary way, — will my gentle 
lady buy?" 



90 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

And the lady smiled on the worn old man through the dark and 
clustering curls 

Which veiled her brow as she bent to- view his silks and glit- 
tering pearls ; 

And she placed their price in the old man's hand, then lightly 
turned away ; 

But she turned at the wanderer's earnest call, — " My gentle 
lady, stay ! " > 

" O lady fair, I have yet a gem which a purer lustre flings 
Than the diamond flash of the jewelled crown on the lofty 

brow of kings, — 
A wonderful pearl of exceeding price, whose virtue shall not 

decay, 
Whose light shall be as a spell to thee, and a blessing on thy 

way ! " 

The lady glanced at the mirorring steel where her form of 

grace was seen, 
Where her eye shone clear, and her dark locks waved their 

clasping pearls between : — 
" Bring forth thy pearl of exceeding worth, thou traveller 

gray and old, 
And name the price of thy precious gem, and my page shall 

count thy gold." 

The cloud went off from the pilgrim's brow, as a small and 

meagre book, 
Unchased with gold or gem of cost, from his folding robe he 

took! 
" Here, lady fair, is the pearl of price ; may it prove as such 

to thee ! 
Nay — keep thy gold — I ask it not, for the word of God is 

free!" 

The hoary traveller went his way, but the gift he left behind 
Hath had its pure and perfect work on that high-born maiden's 
mind, 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 91 

And she hath turned from the pride of sin to the lowliness of 

truth, 
And given her human heart to God in its beautiful hour of 

youth. 

And she hath left the gray old halls where an evil faith had 

power, 
The courtly knights of her father's train, and the maidens of 

her bower ; 
And she hath gone to the Yaudois vales, by lordly feet untrod, 
Where the poor and needy of earth are rich in the perfect love 

of God. 

John G. WJiittier. 



NEARER HOME. 

O'er the hills the sun is setting, 

And the eve is drawing on ; 
Slowly drops the gentle twilight, 

For another day is gone, 
Gone for aye, — its race is over, 

Soon the darker shades will come ; 
Still 'tis sweet to know at even 

We are one day nearer home. 

One day nearer, sings the mariner, 

As he glides the waters o'er, 
While the light is softly dying 

On his distant, native shore. 
Thus the Christian on life's ocean, 

As his light boat cuts the foam, 
In the evening cries with rapture, 

I am one day nearer home. 

Nearer home ! Yes, one day nearer 
To our father's house on high, — 

To the green fields and the fountaJtJS 
Of the land beyond the sky. 



92 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

For the heavens grow brighter o'er us, 
And the lamps hang in the dome, 

And our camps are pitched still closer, 
For we're one day nearer home. 



FADELESS IS A LOVING HEART. 

Sunny eyes may lose their brightness ; 
Nimble feet their lightness ; 
Pearly teeth may know decay ; 
Kaven tresses turn to gray ; 
Cheeks be pale, and eyes be dim ; 
Faint the voice, and weak the limb ; 
But though youth and strength depart, 
Fadeless is a loving heart. 

Wealth and talents will avail, 
When on life's rough sea we sail ; 
Yet the wealth may melt like snow, 
And the wit no longer glow : 
But more smooth we'll find the sea, 
* And our course the fairer be, 
If our pilot, when we start, 
Be a kindly, loving heart. 

Grant me, Heaven, my earnest prayer, 
Whether life of ease or care 
Be the one to me assigned, 
That each coming year may find 
Loving thoughts and gentle words 
Twined within my bosom's chords, 
And that age«may but impart 
Riper freshness to my heart ! 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 93 



HYMN. 

[The following hymn can be either recited, or sung to the tune of the " Mis- 
sionary Hymn."] 

To thee, our heavenly Father, 

We bend in Jesus' name, 
To thank thee for the blessings 

That from thy mercy came ; 
For thou hast strewed our pathway, 

Through all the summer days, 
With flowers of truth and wisdom, 

And filled our hearts with praise. 

We thank thee for the Sabbaths, — 

Sweet days of holy rest, — 
When, earthly cares forsaking, 

We sought the Saviour blest, 
And learned the path of duty, 

Of faith, and hope, and love, 
And heard the glorious promise 

To dwell with him above. 

O Father ! may this season 

Of Sabbaths passed away, 
Be to our souls the seed-time 

Of some fair harvest day, 
When faith and hope shall blossom, % 

And bear their hundred-fold ; 
O Father ! speed the hardest 

Of treasures yet untold! 

William T. Adams (Oliver Optic) 



94 THE 'SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

"ADESTE EIDELES!" 

[This poem can be recited, or sung to the tune of the " Portuguese Hymn."J 

Attend, all ye faithful, your Leader's command ! 
His trumpet is sounding on sea and on land ; 
The cross in his banner is blazing afar ; 
His armies are marshalled for labor and war. 

Put on then, ye faithful, the arms of the Lord, — 
Salvation your helmet, the Spirit your sword ; 
With truth and the gospel your sinews be steeled ; 
Be justice your breastplate, and faith be your shield. 

• What soldier of Jesus shall shrink from hisffcide, 
By armies though threatened, by perils though tried ? 
Our Captain we'll follow to conflict and death, 
And shout in his triumph while yielding our breath. 

The hosts of the alien with terror shall view 
The ranks undismayed of his followers true ; 
His anthems of glory our shouts shall begin, 
While charging resistless the legions of sin. 

• And when to our prowess each traitor shall yield, 
And, laden with spoils, we return from the field, 
To Jesus our laurels we'll gratefully bring, 
Exalting the name of our conquering King. 

ifear Captain, triumphant, we offer to thee 
The heart of the faithful, the arm of the free : 
Thy word be our guide *in thy warfare below, 
And ours be the glory thy promises show ! 

William Ev&rett. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 95 



IMPRESSIONS — TINTYPES. 

[Characters. — Six girls: Sarah, Mary, Hannah, Lizzie, Phcebe, and 

Anna.] 

Scene. — - Sarah and Mary on the stage. 
[Enter Hannah.] 

Sarah. We have been looking for you this half hour. Have 
you just returned from town ? 

Hannah. Yes ; I stayed to let the children get their tintypes 
taken. 

Mary. Why didn't they come back with you ? 

Hannah. They waited for the pictures, and are coming next 
car. How wonderful it is that we can get such good little 
pictures so easily ! 

Sarah. And the price ! One hundred for a dollar. I do 
not wonder so many are taken ! 

Mary. Neither do I. The last time I was in town I hap- 
pened to be passing along Main Street by the photograph rooms 
where those frames full of tintypes hang. Sarah was with me, 
and exclaimed, " Oh, what a mass of faces ! " as we glanced up 
at them. I almost shuddered. 

Hannah. I know what the feeling was. 

Mary. There were only a few hundred in each frame, I 
suppose ? 

Hannah. No, and if one is overwhelmed by the massing of 
a few hundred pictures like those, what would it be to us if we 
could see at one glance all the faces in the world ? 

Mary. I have often thought of that when I have seen a large 
crowd. We should be like the Queen of Sheba when she sa^t 
the glory of King Solomon, " And there was no more spirit iiL 
her." Then to think of all that have ever been ! 

Sarah. It is like trying to comprehend the length of eternity 
to think of so many ! 

Mary. Yes, what a multitude ! 

Hannah. What a lot of comical faces there would be among 
them ! 



96 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

Sarah. What a lot of ugly ones ! 

Mary. What a lot of handsome ones ! 

Hannah. Of funny ones ! 

Mary. Of grave, serious ones ! 

Sarah. Of benevolent and kind ones ! 

Hannah. Of brilliant and dull ones ! 

Sarah. Of stupid and wise ones ! 

Mary. Of sorrowful and glad ones ! 

Hannah. Of gentle and meek ones ! 

Mary. Of savage and cross ones ! 

Hannah. Oh, dear, there would be no end of them ! 

Mary. And what a picture-gallery they would make ! 

Sarah. But, girls, according to what I have read, there is 
just such a picture-gallery. There is a theory, held by some 
distinguished men, that impressions are made of all we do, say, 
and know, and of course of all that we are, on the things about 
us, on the clouds, and on the ground, and on everything. 

Mary. Yes, I have read it, and perhaps in the future life we 
shall see all these pictures. Angels will see them, and God 
will. 

Hannah. Perhaps that is God's Book of Remembrance 
spoken of in the Bible. I think I've heard somebody say so. 

Mary. We get almost lost thinking of these things. 

[Enter Phcebe, Anna, and Lizzie, with tintypes.] 

Lizzie. We've got home. Where's mother? 

Phoebe. We've come. Here are my tintypes. [Holds them 

up. 3 

Anna. [With a long breath.'} Such a good time] Where's 
mother ? 

Lizzie, Phoebe, Anna. We've come. 

Hannah. I should think we might know you'd come without 
any formal announcement of it. 

Lizzie. The cars were crowded full ! 

Phoebe. So full I had to stand up all the way. 

Anna. Yes, crowded full, and a man, in trying to go out, 
stepped right on my foot. 

Lizzie. Here, see my tintypes. [Shows them.'] 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 97 

Phoebe. Look at Anna's first. 

Anna. He put my head up so I think my chin sticks out. 

Plioebe. See mine, Sarah. 

Lizzie. [Looking hers over.'] One of mine's got scratched* 

Mary. I think they are very good. Anna, I don't think 
that your chin " sticks out," as you call it. It is a sweet pic- 
ture of you. [Kisses her.] 

Phoebe. I wish I could take pictures. Don't ladies ever 
learn to take them ? I mean to be a tintype-taker. 

Sarah. You take more pictures than you are aware of 
now. 

Hannah. And have more taken of you than you know about, 
if what we have been talking about is true. 

Phoebe. Well, I should like to know how it is done. 

Say*ah. Do you know how these pictures were taken ? 

Anna. 7 do. The artist got the tincard ready, and put it in 
the instrument, and then we sat down and he placed us right. 
Then he slipped up the slide, and in a moment we were took. 
He slipped down the slide, and carried the picture into his 
closet to finish it. 

Sarah. You have left out the most important part. 

Hannah. Your getting took was what Sarah meant you 
should explain. 

Anna. Oh, I don't know how that was! Do you, Han- 
nah? 

Hannah. Yes, the tincard was prepared so that light would 
change the chemical on it, and a lens placed so as to concen- 
trate the rays of light reflected from your face. This changed 
the chemical, and left your image. He put xlown the slide so 
as not to let any more light on it, and took it into his dark 
closet to wash it over and make the impression stay. 

Phoebe. Well, I should like to know how the light from my 
whole face could steer right into the little round hole in the 
box of his instrument. I should think it would scatter all over 
the room around me. 

Hannah. It does go all over the room, but light never scat- 
ters. It goes in direct lines, and when these rays get to the 
lens, that brings them together so as to form an image. 



98 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

Mary. If there were arranged instruments all around you, 
the rays of light from your face would make an image in every 
one of them. [During this Lizzie and Anna are looking closely 
ifi each others'' eyes.'] 

Lizzie. I can see a tintype of me in each of Anna's eyes ! 

Sarah. Pick it out. 

Mary. Both of you shut your eyes, and tell me if you can- 
not then see a picture of each other. [Shut eyes.] 

Lizzie and Anna together. No, I can't. 

Mary. What, Anna, can't you tell me just how Lizzie 
looks ? It isn't a minute since you saw her. You can tell me 
alnlbst as well as if you were looking at her. 

Anna. Oh, yes, I can do that ! She has her hair combed 
up, and has a ribbon over her net. I can tell just how she 
looks. 

Mary. Well, Lizzie, can't you see just how Anna looks ? 

Lizzie. Yes, I can see her hair, and her eyes, her red cheeks, 
and her lips ; I can think just how she smiles with her eyes shut 
up, and her tintypes in her hand. 

Anna. And I can see your eyes shut up. I can s.ee your 
dress and all. 

Mary. Well, then, you have pretty good photographic in- 
struments in your minds, haven't you ? [Open eyes.] 

Lizzie and Anna. I never thought of that. 

Anna. But, Mary, the pictures won't stay. 

Mary. Oh! but they do stay as long as you remember. 
Shut your eyes again. [They do so.] Can't you see it all 
again ? 

Anna and Lizzie. Yes. 

Mary. Well, then, the pictures stay. Only as we forget do 
they fade out. 

Phoebe. And so everybody that sees us and remembers us 
has got a photograph of us in his brain ! How funny ! 

Hannah. Yes, and work clone there is very much like the 
artist's work. The eye has a lens, and makes the picture on 
the retina, which is like the tincard. If that were all, the pic- 
ture would disappear when the object was taken away, as the 
photograph would if the artist did not take it to the dark closet 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 99 

to finish it. But the nerve of the eye takes the»picture, and 
carries it into the brain, as an artist to his dark closet. It is 
there made permanent, and this is memory. 

Phoebe. How is it when we forget? 

Mary, The picture fades out, as our photographs do, when 
the artist does not finish them up well. 

Sarah. So pictures of us are being taken all the time. Yes, 
every moment, when we are cross, and when we are pleasant- 
looking ; and this shows us the importance of having on a pleas- 
ant expression, not once in a while, but always. 

Hannah. We are always careful to have on a neat dress 
when we go to have our pictures taken, and we want to put 
on our best looks.- 

Anna. Yes, the artist tells us, when he is ready, "Now put 
on your pleasantest expression.'" 

Sarah. A picture made on a card or plate will last long 
after we are dead, and it is dreadful to think of leaving a pic- 
ture that has on it a cross or ugly look ; but how, much more to 
think we are making hundreds and hundreds of pictures on the 
minds of others that will last perhaps forever ! I think this is 
a reason why we should always try to look our best. 

Mary. Yes, and in order to look our best it is necessary to 
feel our best, for the artist always tells us to look natural too. 
We cannot always be sure of looking our best unless we have 
within us good tempers, sweet dispositions, and pleasant feel- 
ings. 

Lizzie. I never thought of that before. 

Phoebe. I went to school feeling cross this morning, and I 
presume I made more than twenty pictures on peoples' minds, 
looking just so. 

Lizzie. And I " got mad " at recess, and there must be ever 
so many pictures of me, just as I looked, on the minds of the 
girls ! 

Anna. Mary Brown made a good one. Her mother was too 
poor to give her money to go with us and get her tintypes 
taken ; but I saw her, after school tnis morning, comforting 
little Freddie Jones, who had fallen down and hurt him, and 
she had such a pleasant expression ! I have <x picture of her 



100 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

just as she Uoked, and it is far more beautiful than these we 
had taken. 

Phoebe. Well, I never will look cross again ! 

Lizzie. I never will get mad again ! 

Sarah and Mary. Good resolutions, girls. 

Hannah. Good enough for us older ones to copy, I think. 
Tintypes teach lessons as well as lilies of the field. 

E. 0. K. 



THE SULTAN'S LESSON. 

An aged sultan placed before his throne one day 
Three urns : one golden was, one amber, and one clay. 
When with his royal seal the slaves had sealed each urn, 
He ordered his three sons to take their choice in turn. 

Upon the golden vase the word Empire was writ ; 

The haughty word, resplendent groups of jewels stud. 
The eldest grasped the golden urn and opened it, — 

But shrank in horror back to find it filled with blood ! 

The word Glory upon the amber vase shone bright ; 

The luring word fresh wreaths of laurels cluster o'er. 
The second chose the amber urn, — pathetic sight ! 

'Twas filled with dust of men, once famed, now known no 
more. 

No word inscribed upon its front the clay vase bore, 

And yet for this the youngest prince his choice had saved. 

He oped the urn of clay his father's feet before, — 
And, lo ! 'twas empty, but God's name was there engraved. 

The sultan to the wondering throng of courtiers turned, 

And asked them which of all those vases weighed the most? 

Far different thoughts within their various bosoms burned ; — 
Into a threefold party broke the courtier host. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 101 

The warriors said, " The golden vase, symbol of power." 
The poets said, " The amber vase, emblem of fame." 

The sages said, " The clayey va9e, God's name its dower; 
The globe is lighter than one letter of that name." 

Then said the sultan to his sons : " Remember well 
The meaning of this scene, the lesson of this day. 

When your lives' dust is balanced over heaven and hell, 
Ah ! think, will its renown the name of God outweigh ? 

William R. Alger. 



"HONOR THY FATHER AND THY MOTHER." 

[Character*— Frank and Harry.] 

Frank. Well, Harry Locke, where are you going in such a 
hurry ? 

Harry. I have got an errand to do at the grain store. 

Frank, Who for? the governor? 

Harry. No sir. Did you think I was in Governor Bullock's 
employ ? 

Frank. What a fellow you are ! I meant Jedediah. 

Harry. Jedediah who ? 

Frank. Locke, of course, your old man; did he send you? 
Seems to me that you are obtuse this morning. 

Harry. And I hope I shall continue to be obtuse, Frank 
Jenkins, if it prevents my being disrespectful to my father. 

Frank. Pho ! where's the harm ? I always call my dad, 
" old man." 

Harry. And your mother, " old woman"? 

Frank. Yes. Sometimes I call her Dorothy Jane. 

Harry. I'm sorry Frank that you have got into this habit ; 
it's a very foolish, if not a very wicked one. 

Frank. How do you make that out? 

Harry. Well, in the first place, what do your father and 
mother say when you speak of them so ? 

Frank. Oh, I don't call them so when they are around. 

Harry. Why not? 



102 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

Frank. Because, it would make 'em mad. 

Harry. That shows that you think they would not approve 
of it ; so you feel that it is wrong to speak so, — am I not right, 
Frank ? 

Frank. I don't see why they should care. 

Harry. How old is your father, Frank ? 

Frank. Thirty-eight. 

Harry. And your mother about the same, I suppose. Then 
you see it is not true to call them "old man," and "old 
woman ; " but the chief objection is, that it is disrespectful and 
unkind. 

Frank. You said that it was wicked. 

Harry. So I did, and I will tell you why. The Bible tells 
us to " Honor our father and mother; " it is one of the Ten 
Commandments ; and you know as^vell as I that it is not hon- 
oring them when we give them nicknames, or treat them as 
we do playmates of our own age. It is a thoughtless habit, 
Frank, and half the boys that use it do not stop to think how 
unkind it is to those who love them best. They learn it from 
rowdy and vulgar boys, as they learn other silly slang. 

Frank. I suppose you are right, Harry. The fact is, I 
never thought anything about it ; but now you remind me that 
I did learn it first of Sam Maxwell, and he isn*t much of a fel- 
low. It is mean to speak disrespectfully of a good father and 
mother, and I am glad you said what you have, Harry ; you're 
a sensible fellow, and I'll go along with you to the grain store. 

Harry. Thank you, Frank ; I am very glad you think I'm 
right ; some boys would have laughed at me, and called me a 
" parson," or something of that sort, but I am sure that you 
will be glad that you left off the low habit. [Exeunt.] 

William L. Williams. 



INTRODUCTORY POEM FOR A MAY FES- 
TIVAL. 

The March winds are hushed into silence, 
Moist April, with soft-falling showers, 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER.. 10 < 

Is gone, and we stand at the portal 
Of the beautiful season of flowers. 

They are springing to life in the meadows, 

The}' spangle the grass at our feet ; 
And, lo, with their delicate fragrance 

The air all about us is sweet. 

The birds have come back for the summer, 
They have scented the flowers from afar, — 

As the shepherds of old were attracted 
By the soft light of Bethlehem's star. 

You can hear their glad notes of rejoicing 

In the glory and beauty of morn ; 
They are chanting loud songs of thanksgiving, 

For gloomy old winter is gone. 

We too have our songs of glad welcome, 

Our voices in gratitude lift 
To the loving and bountiful Father 

For this his most beautiful gift. 

Dear friends, we have asked you to meet us 

On this our glad festival night, 
And we trust that our efforts to please you 

Your trouble and pains will requite. 

The Queen of the May is invited, 

And sends a most gracious reply ; 
So we hope for her Majesty's presence, 

With the maids of her court, by and by. 

Meantime we've secured some young speakers 

And singers your time to beguile, 
Whose efforts, we trust, will be fully 

Repaid by your favoring smile. 



104 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

Good-by, I am bound for the meadow 
To seek for some flowers for my hair, 

For you know when a queen is expected, 
We must for her coming prepare. 

Horatio Alger, Jr. 



THE FLOWER-GIRL. 

[The child speaking this piece should have a basket of flowers, from which, as 
she mentions them, she should lift up before the audience the " myrtle," 
the " pretty bunch of buds," and the " larger ones." Thus spoken by a child 
of six, dressed in white and trimmed with flowers, it is very effective.] 

Here's flowers from the wildwood, 

Of eVery kind and hue, 
From the fox-glove to the snow-bud, — 

I gathered them for you. * 
And with them I've twined myrtle, — 

You know it's splendid green, — 
'T would make for you a nice bouquet 

As ever has been seen. 

Then from my little cosey beds 

I've culled some beauties there ; 
And here's a pretty bunch of buds 

For your bright and glossy hair. 
Or, if you have a vase to fill, 

Here's larger ones, you know ; 
I'll fix them, oh, how neat they'll fill 

And make a splendid show ! 

Now, ladies, and kind gentlemen, 

Just listen to my song ; 
Then go with me a-Maying 

For I cannot tarry long. 

[Followed by the Song — Tune of " Gay and Happy."] 

Come, let us all a-Maying go, 

Down where the purple violets grow ; 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 



105 



Come, let us go, oh, come, let us go, 
Let us go, let us go, let us go, let us go. 
The bells shall ring, and the cuckoo sing, 
The drums shall beat, and the fifes shall play, 
And so we'll pass the time away, 
And so we'll pass the time away. 



THE SEASONS. 



All together. 



Second Speaker. 



[For four speakers. The last two lines of each verse to be spoken by all to- 
gether.] 

First Speaker. I love the young Spring, 

The warm April showers, 
The soft southern wind, 

The leaves and the flowers. 
Oh, this is the season 

When bright flowers blow ! 
We love, and with reason, 

The months as they go. 

'Tis summer /love, 

Its berries so bright, 
Its long, sunny day, 

But no gloomy night. 
Oh, this is the season 

When richest fruits grow ! 
We love, and with reason, 

The months as they go. 

Now Autumn has come, 

With warm sun at noon ; 
With nuts and sweet fruits, 

And long harvest moon. 
Oh, this is the season 

For ripe fruits to glow ! 
All together. We love, and with reason, 

The months as they go. 



All together. 



Third Speaker. 



106 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

Fourth Speaker. The sleigh-bells nowglide; 
The bells ring away ; 
The merry boys slide, 

On skates how they play ! 
Oh, this is the season 
Of frost and of snow ! 
All together. We love, and with reason, 

The months as they go. 



THE MAY QUEEN. 

[In this piece all the scholars of the school should appear. The Queen, with 
eyes cast down, should be placed on an elevated seat in the centre, as a 
throne. She should be dressed in flowing robes of white, without a crown. 
The other children should be grouped around her in the shape of a new 
moon. The girls ought all to be dressed in white, and wear wreaths on 
their heads; and each boy should have a small bouquet of flowers in his 
hand. The girl who is to crown the Queen (she must be a good speaker) 
should repeat the first three verses, facing the audience; and all together 
should recite the fourth. When they say, " We have woven the garland, 
the bright wreath we bring," she should come forward, and place the 
crown upon the Queen; — and in the last line every head should be bowed, 
and all should bend on one kHe, remaining so, in order to form a tab- 
leau. J 

Her dark eyes downcast, and suffused with bright tears, 
The star of our choice in soft radiance appears ; 
She will list with delight to our homage to-day, 
As in triumph we hail her the Queen of the May ! 

Her light laugh is hushed, while that shade on her brow 
Tells that thoughts deep and fervent are reigning there now ; 
Though her heart beats all wildly, yet grave is the mien 
Of the pure and the gentle, the modest May-queen. 

She heeds not nor cares for the praise of a throng, 
The plaudits so loud that to beauty belong ; 
Ah ! the thought that her face o'er each spirit hath sway 
Finds no place in the thoughts of the Queen of the May ! 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 107 

Then huzza ! then huzza ! for the sovereign of spring ; 
We have woven the garland, the bright wreath -we bring! 
Then huzza ! let each spirit sweet heart-music play, 
Bow each head, bend each knee to the Queen of the May! 



ORIGIN OF THE MOSS ROSE. 

The angel of the flowers, one day, 

Beneath the rose-tree, sleeping, lay, — 

That spirit to whose charge is given 

To bathe young buds with dews from heaven. 

Awaking from his light repose, 

The angel whispered to the rose, 

" Oh, fondest object of my care, 

Still fairest found where all are fair, 

For the sweet shade thou'st granted me, 

Ask what thou wilt, 'tis granted thee." 

" Then," said the rose, with deepening glow, 
" On me another grace bestow." 
The spirit paused in silent thought, — 
What grace was there that flower had not ? 
'Twas but a moment — o'er the rose 
A veil of rn6*ss the angel throws ; 
And, robed in nature's simplest weed, 
Could there a flower that rose exceed ? 



THE MAY QUEEN. 

Crown her, crown her Queen of May ; 
Dance the merry hours away ; 
Bring her tributes fresh and fair, 
Early blossoms sweet and rare ; 
Strew them in her pathway, now 
Bind them round her sunny brow. 



108 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

Crown her, crown her Queen of May ; 
Joyful she shall reign to-day ; 
Of the meadow and the green, 
Of the woodland, fairy queen ; 
Far and wide her realm shall be, 
Sovereign, gentle spring of thee. 

Crown her, crown her Queen of May ; 
Youthful hearts, your homage pay ; 
Friendship, honor, love, sincere, 
Wishes fond, and words that cheer ; 
Joyfully our gifts we bring, 
Loyally her praises sing. » 

Crown her, crown her Queen of May ; 
Dance the merry hours away ; 
Youth and childhood quickly pass, 
As the dew-drops from the grass ; 
And a woman's graces shine 
Where the wreaths of girlhood twine. 



MAY. 



Bright-eyed, laughing, joyous May I 
Nature's bridal holiday ! 
Come again to glad our sight 
With thy blossoms red and white ; 
Blossoms that with perfume rare 
Make sweet incense in the air, 
Such as in the sunshine clear, 
Come not often in the year. 
Bright-eyed, laughing, joyous May! 
Come again, sweet holiday. 

Fairy-haunted, smiling May ! 
When bright faces all seem gay ; 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 109 

Month when childhood's merry voice 
Bids the woods and lanes rejoice ; 
Like a fairy 'mid the flowers, 
Seems each little child of ours, 
Singing in its homeward way, 
4 * Come again, sweet holiday, — i 

Bright-eyed, laughing, joyous May ! 
Come again, sweet holiday." 



THE LITTLE CHILD AND THE ROBINS. 

To an elm-tree close by our window 

Two dear little robins have come, 
And up in its shady, green branches 

Have made them a beautiful home. 

The green leaves, soft waving above them, 
Are the roof that o'ershaclows their nest, 
■ And the wind, whispering gently around them, 
Is the music that- lulls them to rest. 

When the sun comes up from the shadows, 

To tell that a new day is born, 
They wake up, these two little robins, 

And hail the bright light with a song. 

And soon their sweet carols of gladness 

Awaken me out of my dreams, 
And I find that the glorious sunshine 

Is flooding the room with its beams. 

And I offer my prayer of thanksgiving 
To the great God who dwells up on high, 

Who takes care of the birds and the children, 
And not one forgotten shall die. 



110 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

And every night, before sleeping, 
When the light no longer I see, 

I pray to my Father in heaven, 
To take care of the birdies and me. 

And I know, if I'm good and obey him, 
I'll be happy all my life long, 

Till at length in that beautiful heaven 
I shall praise him forever in song. 



MAY. 

May is come, and May is flying; 
Spring is here, and Spring is dying; 
Shout a welcome frank and flowing ; 
Say farewell, for sfee is going. 

Buds are breaking, love is waking, 
Time our very breath is taking ; 
We are jocund, we are sighing, 
Summer comes, for Spring is dying. 

Love her ! bless her ! as she goeth, 
Ere the grass the mower moweth ; 
Ere the cowslip hath departed 
Kiss sweet May all tearful-hearted. 

For she goes to all the perished, 
Goes to all the dearly cherished, 
Sails the sea, and climbs the mountain, 
Seeking Spring's eternal fountain. 



THE SEASONS. 

[For four girls — or Winter may be represented by a boy if preferred.] 

Spring, Of the seasons of the year 

Which to you is the most dear ? 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 



Ill 



Me the spring-time pleases best ; 
Then the fields in green are dressed, 
Then the blossoms red and white 
Are a pleasure to the sight ; 
Then the song of many a bird 
Is at early daylight heard ; 
Then we find the violet blue 
And the harebell wet with dew ; 
And the columbine looks up 
With its red and yellow cup. 

Summer. Summer is the time for me, 
Joy is then in all I see. 
Then the roses are in bloom, 
All the garden they perfume ; 
Then what joy it is to stray 
Where the men are making hay. 
Then how sweet it is to lie 
On the hay and see the sky. 
Cherries, strawberries, and flowers, 
Fill the happy, happy hours. 

Autumn. Spring and Summer you may praise, 
Give me Autumn's merry days ! 
Then the apple and the peach 
Are within our easy reach. 
Then we can a-nuttingVo, — 
Many a nutting place I know. 
Oh, I love the golden haze 
Of the soft, calm autumn days ! 
And I love the brilliant tints 
Autumn on the leaves imprints. 

Winter. But, of all the seasons fair, 

None with winter can compare. 
Home delights then come again, 
Christmas and its pleasant train. 
Though the snow-drifts hide the ground 
Sports- without, too, then abound. 



112 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

We can coast, and slide, and skate, 
Health and fun on winter wait. 
Good long evenings then succeed, 
We can study, talk, and read. 

All the Seasons together. Every season with it brings 
Joy for all created things. 
Yes, the Father infinite 
Feeds thee e'er with fresh delight. 
If his law of love we mind, 
Night and day we peace shall find. 
If we keep a conscience clear, 
Every season will be dear. 
Ours shall be* a happy youth, 
If we always speak the truth. 



THE WILD ROSE. 

A boy espied, in morning light, 

A little rosebud blowing ; 
'Twas so delicate and bright, 
That he came to feast his sight, 

And wonder at its growing. 

" I will gather thee," he cried, 

" Rosebud, brightly blowing ! " — 
" Then I'll sting thee," it replied, 
"And you'll quickly stand aside, 
With the prickle glowing ! " 

But he plucked it from the plain, — 

The rosebud brightly blowing ! 
It turned and stung him, but in vain ; 
He regarded not the pain,- 

Homeward with it going. 
Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red, 

Rosebud brightly blowing. 

From the German of Goethe. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 113 



A JUNE SHOWER. 

How this delicious rain 
Brings up the flowers ! One might almost say, 
It rains down blossoms, — for where yesterday 

I sought for them in vain, 
They lie by thousands on the wet, green earth, 
Rejoicing in the freshness of their birth. 

No harsh or jarring sound 
Breaks the refreshing stillness of the hour, — 
The tinkling footfalls of the passing shower 

Patter along the ground ; 
The swallows twitter gladly from the eaves 
And the small rain talks softly to the leaves. 

Bloom-laden lilac trees, 
Their purple glories dripping with the rain, 
Shake off the drops in odorous showers again, 

And the small fragrances 
Of cherry-blossoms, and of violets blue, 
Come balmily "the open window through. 

With idly folded hands 
The farmer sits within his cottage door, 
Watching the blessings which the full clouds pour 

Upon his thirsty lands, — 
Where written promise by his eye is seen 
In visible chlr acters of living green. 

Unyoked the oxen stand, 
The cool rain plashing on their heaving sides, 
And with wide nostrils breathe the fragrant tides 

Of breezes blowing bland, — 
Then as though sated with the odor sweet, 
Crop the new grass that springs beneath their feet. 



114 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 



Sweet is the gladsome song 
Which the young birds sing in the summer time, 
The wind's soft voice, the river's wavy chime 

Flowing in joy along ; 
But dearer far to me the pleasant tune 
Sung by the rain-drops in the month of June. 

Florence Percy. 



THE SEASONS. 

[This piece requires five children, One as questioner, and the other four to 
personate Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter.] 

Questioner. When Spring comes with suns and showers 
What gives beauty to the bowers ? 

Spring. Buds and flowers. 

Ques. When the glowing Summer's born, 

What pours Nature from her horn ? 

Summer. Hay and corn. 

Ques. When mild suns in Autumn shine 

Then, O earth, what gifts are thine ? 

Autumn. f Fruit and wine. 

Ques. When gray Winter comes, w^it glow 

Makes the round earth sparkle so ? 

Winter. Ice and snow. 

All together. Hay and corn and buds and flowers, 
Snow and ice and fruit and wine ; 
Spring and Summer, Fall and Winter, 
With their suns and sleets and showers, 
Bring in turn, these gifts divine. 



THE SU3TDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 



115 



Spring. 


Spring blows. 


Summer. 


Summer glows. 


Autumn. 


Autumn reaps. 


Winter. 


Winter keeps. 


Spring. 


Spring prepares. 


Summer. 


Summer provides, 


Autumn. 


Autumn hoards. 


Winter. 


Winter hicles. 



All together. Come then, friends, their praises sound ; 
Spring and Summer, Autumn, Winter, 
Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring, 
As they run their yearly round. 
Each in turn with gladness sing. 
Time drops blessings as he flies, 
Time makes ripe, and Time makes wise. 

Schottel. 



THE FLOWERS OF MAY. 



[Scene. A May-pole hung with garlands, and a group of little girls from six 
to eight years of age, dressed in white, and decorated with flowers, dancing 
around it, and singing to the tune of " Away to School."] 

Oh, how we love this month so dear, 

The merry month of May, 
The happiest time of all the year, — 
The children's holiday. 
We'll dance and sing each merry spring, 
And make the good old forest ring 
With lovely May, with charming May, 
With merry, merry May. 



116 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

[While singing the first four lines the children may walk around the May-pole 
hand in hand, commencing to dance at the fifth line. While singing the 
last words the first and eighth child, while standing between the May-pole 
and the audience, must separate and step back, the others following, form- 
ing a half circle, open to the front of the stage, the May-pole being in the 
centre.] 

First child speaks. Little playmates, in the grove, 

Hidden by its leaves of green, 
Where the fragrant breezes rove 

The sweet May-flower I have seen. 
I have gathered them to-day, 
Sweetest blossoms of the May. 

Second child. They are pretty, I'll allow, 
I inhale their fragrance now, 
Eut in grace they'll not compare 
With the pearly snowdrop fair, 
Which a treasure is to me, — 
Slender-stemmed anemone. 

Third child. Grace and fragrance charm, but still, 
See my golden daffodil. 
Not in wild wood careless spread, 
But blooming in my garden bed. 
Daffodil's a prize for me ; 
See its beauty, playmates, see ! 

Fourth child. Worth and beauty I discern 

In the spicy-breathed sweet fern 
Hiding gems of violets blue, 
Shrinking from the gazer's view. 
Fern and violet I place 
On the pinnacle of grace. 

Fifth child. In the lily^s form I view 

Grace and beauty, fragrance too ; 
Blooming in a garden fair, 
Queen among the flowerets there. 
Noble lily, white and pure ! 
She is fairest, I am sure. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 117 

Sixth child. Let me praise the blushing rose, 
And her secret now disclose : 
White she bloomed in Paradise, — 
She was pure as Lapland ice. 
But when Eve on apples fed, 
Then she blushed a rosy red, 
Hanging down her pretty head. 

Seventh child. Common flowers are they all, 
Springing rank by garden wall. 
In my mother's greenhouse blooms 
A stately plant with rich perfumes. 
In geranium I find 
Something rarer, more refined. 

Eighth child. Fair for me the fuchsia ] s gem, 
Hanging drooping on its stem. 
Such the gems that angels wear 
Wreathed amid their shining hair ; 
How I wish that we could see 
Angels as they really be ! 

[Eight angeh in white, with flowers and gold crowns enter, four from each 
side of the stage, and stand behind the children. They must be girls eleven 
or twelve years of age. They sing or repeat in unison : — ] 

Little sisters, we are near, 

Call for us and we appear. 

For we love the merry May, 

And the sports of children gay ; 

And we bring you rarer flowers 

Than ever bloomed in wildwood bowers. 

First angel speaks. In the Mayflower sweet, we find 
A lesson you must bear in mind. 
Hope on, though dreary be the storm, 
Behind the cloud the sun shines warm. 
Fear not, though sad may be your plight, 
Look up to God ; he'll make it right. 



118 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

Second angel. In the snowdrop you may see 
The beauty of true modesty ; 
It seeketh not the busy street, 
But loves to dwell in wilclwood sweet, 
With May flowers, moss, and willows tall, ■ 
The fairest form among them all. 

Third angel. Read in the golden daffodil 

True riches that }^our hearts may fill. 
Not sordid wealth that clogs the soul. ." 
To be cast off to reach the goal ; 
But treasures laid away in heaven, 
Of good deeds done, and sins forgiven. 

Fourth angel. In the violet you see 
The emblem of humility. 
Christ was humble ; when on earth 
The manger was his place of birth. 
O sisters, may you be like him, 
So humble, meek, and free from sin ! 

Fifth angel. The lihfs lesson learn from me ; 
It is the type of purity. 
Like its flower may you remain, 
Innocent, and free from stain ; 
Fit to dwell among the flowers 
So beautiful in heavenly bowers. 

Sixth angel. Now learn the lesson of the rose 

That everywhere in beauty grows ; 
The love of God it speaks to all, — 
From seraphs high to infants small, — m 
The love that's boundless as the sky, 
Extensive as Infinity. 

Seventh angel. The sweet geranium speaks to thee 
A lesson of blest charity. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 119 

It hicleth not its pretty bloom, 
Nor pocketeth its sweet perfume ; 
To all its store it freely gives, 
" And still increaseth " while it lives. 

Eighth angel. The pretty fuchsia is a gem 
Brighter than kingly diadem ; 
And if its lesson you would seek, 
A quiet soul, a spirit meek, 
Are ornaments that please above 
Where all is peace, and joy, and love. 

[Children and angels lift their clasped hands and eyes, and speak in unison :] 

We thank thee, Father, who hast given 
Bright flowers on earth, and flowers in heaven ; 
Whose loving care is over all, 
From angels high to children small ; 
Dear Saviour, may we ever be 
Faithful followers of thee. 

[All remain in the above position a moment to form a tableau. Curtain 

falls.] 

0. B. M. 



THE MAY FESTIVAL. 

[The young girl who has been selected for Queen, and the remaining scholars, 
should be arranged as in " The May Queen," page 96, except that the Queen 
shall not be at first seated upon the throne. As the curtain rises, the chil- 
dren sing to the tune of " Haste thee, "Winter," the following verse: — ] 

Gentle Queen, ascend thy throne, 
Wear thy fragrant flowery crown.; 
Let its beauty deck thy brow, 
While before thy will we bow ; 
Gentle Queen, ascend thy throne, 
Wear thy fragrant, flowery crown. 



]20 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

[The Queen ascends the throne. One of the maids of honor then takes the 
wreath intended for a crown, and says: — ] 

Fair Queen, thy loving subjects true 
Have twined thi's flowery crown for you. 
Its mingled colors, rich and rare, 
May well adorn a sovereign's hair. 
Your eye amid its bloom may find 
Meet image of a virtuous mind ; 
For garlands it will never do 
To mix too much of gaudy hue. 
Thus be thy heart no tinselled thing, 
For such beseems no queen or king. 
Blest be for thee, each sunny hour ; 
A sky where tempests seldom lower, — 
The bliss that springs from lips sincere, 
The bliss that comes from love most dear. 
Bow, gracious Queen, thy head full low, 
Receive this chaplet on thy brow ! 

[Another maid of honor takes the sceptre, and in presenting it, says : — ] 

Fair Queen, thy subjects good and true 
Have twined for thee a sceptre too ; — 
Take it, and with it in thy hand 
Bear regal sway o'er all the land. 
And let thy gentle, peaceful reign 
Extend while flowers adorn the plain. 
From thy wide realm be banished far 
All strife and discord, noise and war ; 
Let every royal thought be bent 
To further quiet and content, 
In village, garden, and the wood ; 
And, as the breezes, cool and good, 
Refresh each cheek, and smooth each brow, 
So shall our love around thee flow ; 
It e'er shall shield when foes alarm, 
The peoples friend from care and harm. 

[All now sing to the same tune, as before.] 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 121 

Hail to thee, Queen of May* 
Welcome to thy gentle sway ; 
Pleasant sunshine on the bowers, 
Love and blessing fill the hours. 
Hail to thee, O Queen of May, 
Welcome to thy gentle sway. 

[The heralds (six boys) advance, and sing — same tune.] 

Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring, 
Ye must all a tribute bring, 
Bough, or fruit, or evergreen, 
To the gentle flower-queen. 
Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring, 
Ye must all a tribute bring. 

[This must be repeated in chorus, and while all the rest are singing the fouf 
who represent the seasons advance and present appropriate gifts to the 
Queen. Spring may present a bunch of flowers; Summer, others with late 
flowers among them; Autumn, wheat or fruit; and Winter, evergreen. 
After this the heralds sing : — ] 

All ye flowers a tribute bring 

For the Queen of May and spring, — I 

Bud, or flower, or blossom gay, — 

For the Queen ye must obey. 

Come, ye flowers a tribute bring 

To the Queen of May and spring. 

[At this all the girls pass before the Queen, leaving her bouquet on the throne. 
All sing as before : — ] 

Hail to thee, O Queen of May, 
Blessings on thy gentle sway ; 
Pleasant sunshine on the bowers, 
Love and pleasure fill the hours. 
Hail to thee, O Queen of May, 
Blessings on thy gentle sway. 

[This verse will hardly endure until all have passed ; for the remainder of the 
time a march may be played. When all are in their places, the Queen rises 
and says : — ] 



122 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

Beloved subjects ! You have given me reason 
To bless this genial hour and pleasant season ; 
And yet the time hath much that speaks to* me 
Of self-distrust and sweet humility. 
This royal lot must fall on one alone, — 
A throne divided is no more a throne ; 
But would that one, with heart all good and fair, 
My toils might aid, and all my honors share ! — 

I fear, my friends, you've made an erring choice ; 
But since I'm Queen, and by united voice, 
List to my mandates, and in love obey, 
So shall bright pleasure crown each rising day. 

My first decree, 

Severe, shall be 
That you all love each other ; 

And not a word 

Be ever heard 
To grieve and pain another. 

I My second law, 

The sword shall draw 

'Gainst falsehood and untruth. 
For never lie 
With shame should dye 

The brow of lovely youth. 

And, finally, 

A bane I'll be 
To every idle drone, — 

From my domain 

Hence ! and again 
Ne'er dare approach the throne ! 

To these, my gentle subjects, I will add, 
Nought proud or stern to make the weak afraid ; 
But, in affection, hear this last request, — 
Remember, love your Queen among the rest. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 123 

Thus will sweet friendship every hour entwine, 
And when the summer leaves to earth incline, 
And all this regal pageantry depart, 
No dreary memory will press the heart ; 
The autumn time as joyous May shall be, 
And every scml-from sorrow shall be free ! 

[Heralds sing to some familiar tune, slowly : — ] 

Dear companions, ere we part, 
Join we every voice and heart ; 
Praise the One who gave the flowers, 
And the pleasant, sunny hours. 

[The queen descends from her throne, and all sing cheerfully, but not loudly 
the tune Greenville.] 

Father, source of every pleasure, 

Hear, oh, hear our humble praise, 
For thy mercies without measure 

Hymns of gratitude we raise. 
Bless thy children, meek and erring ; 

Fill our days with joy and love. 
E'er ascribing power and blessing, 

Here and in thy courts above. 

James C. Johnson. 



SANTA CLAUS' SPEECH. 

[This must be spoken in character. Santa Claus should be dressed entirely in 
fur. He should have a pack on his back from which protrude gifts of every 
description. To personate Santa Claus, a lively person with considerable 
confidence is preferable.] 

Good-evening, my friends ; I've just stopped here 
To take my share of your Christmas cheer, 
And tell you each, the large and the small, 
Santa Claus brings " Merry Christmas" for all. 



124 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

I've travelled since cock-crow to scatter my gifts ; 

Crossed mountains and valleys, o'er ice and through drifts ; 

All over the earth my swift sleigh has sped, 

Which four tiny reindeer, well harnessed, have led. 

North, South, East, and West, my fleet steeds have dashed ; 

In every known land have their fairy hoofe clashed; 

And thousands of stockings, in the fireplace hung, 

I've crammed full of presents for old and for young. 

Glad sights of gay mirth and of joy have I seen, 

And many of sorrow, of woe, and of pain. 

All homes have been brightened on which I have glanced, 

Wherever my reindeer have jingled and pranced. 

These presents you see on this beautiful tree, 

Like all Christmas presents, of course came from me ; 

But, having my sleigh full, and fearing a mess, 

I sent these things forward by " Adams Express." 

But I've here a reserve corps of one gift or two, 

Which I purposely saved for the oldest of you. 

This, my friend is for you ; what you find in this box* 

Please invest in Petroleum or Government Stocks, — 

Seven-thirties, five-twenties, whatever you like ; 

But look ere you leap, or you'll make a bad strike. 

This, pater-familias, is especially for you,f 

Lest the forests burn down, or brooms become few. 

And now let us see what has grown on this tree, 
Which, of course you all know, was planted by me. 

[After Santa Claus has assisted in distributing the gifts from the tree, he 

says : — ] 

I can't longer stop, for I've yet much to do, 
So I'll make my best bow, and say my adieu. 
Merry Christmas to all ; hold your gifts safe and tight ; 
Old Santa Claus wishes you all a good-night. 

* A three-cent currency. t A goose-quill tooth-pick. 



THE SUXDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 125 

THE GREETING. 

Children, teachers, come and see 
What your generous friends have done ; 

But for them, your Christmas tree 
Had not known Decembers sun. 

Thanks to those whose kindly plan 

Caused our tree with fruit to nod ; 
Taught by the loving Son of man, 

They would teach the love of God. 

Welcome we that holy love ! 

Crown it in this chosen hour ! 
He who sent it from above 

Gives it now peculiar power. 

For his Son, who, born this day, 

Came as Christ, that love to tell, 
Brought our gifts a tongue to say, 

" God, your Father, loves you well. 

" Tender hearts are likest his, — 

Such lend life a heavenly zest ; 
Friends are dear ; but know you this, — 

God, your Father, loves you best." 

Join we then the angels' songs, 

Sound their choral note again, 
Glory to our God belongs, 

Peace on earth, good-will to men. 

[Full chorus : — " Peace on earth," etc. Silver Chime, page 96.] 



THE CHRISTMAS STOCKING. 

'Twas the evening next to Christmas ; 
Little Millie Averill 



126 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

Hung her stocking on the bedpost 
For good Santa Claus to fill. 

Millie dreamed all night about it ; 

And she, more than once or twice, 
Thought she heard the old man's footsteps, 

When 'twas only spreeing mice ; — 

Till she wondered if the fishes, 
Covered up the sands among, 

Out of reach of pleasant sunshine, 
Felt the winter half so long. 

Then, at last, her eyes she opened, 
As the night was stealing out, 

And she sprang up from the pillow, 
Looking eagerly about. 

Very plump appeared the stocking, 
Plump at top and toe and heel ; 

Warm and soft as hasty pudding, 
When she touched it, did it feel. 

What could Santa Claus have brought her ? 

Asked the child with curious awe ; 
Slyly peeped she in the stocking, 

And what think you Millie saw ? 

Why, her tiny, spotted kitten, 
With his half-shut, yellow eyes ; 

It began to purr, and Millie, 

Laughing, cried, " Oh, what a prize ! w 

But, down in the stocking, deeper, 
When Miss Kitty had crept out, 

Millie found the toys, which, some time, 
I will tell you all about. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 127 



THE CROWN OF LIFE. 

There's a crown for the monarch, — a golden crown, ■ 

And many a ray from its wreath streams down, 

Of an iris hue, from a thousand gems, 

That are woven in blossoms on jewelled stems. 

They've rifled the depth of Golconda's mine, 

And stolen the pearl from the ocean's brine ; 

But the rarest gems and the finest gold 

On a brow of care lie heavy and cold. 

There's a crown for the poet, — a wreath of bay, 
A tribute of praise to his thrilling lay. 
The amaranth twines with the laurel bough 
And seeks a repose on his pensive brow. 
They've searched in the depths of Italia's groves 
To find out the chaplet a poet loves ; 
But Si fadeless wreath in vain they have sought, — 
It withers away on the brow of thought. 

There's a crown for the Christian, — a crown of life, 
Gained in the issues of bloodless strife ; 
'Tis a halo of hope, of joy, and of love, 
Brightened by sunbeams from fountains above ; 
They've gathered its hues from sources afar, 
From Seraphim's eyes, and Bethlehem's star ; 
And the flow of its light will ever increase, 
For a Christian's brow is a brow of peace. 



THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 

Fair Christmas is coming, 
And we must be roaming 
In search of bright mosses and verdant bough. 

Come, dearest companions, with right good-will, 
And all our fair sisters, we wish you still, 



128 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

To cheer with your presence 
Our festival joyous, 
And none shall be sullen or gloomy now. 

All through the long summer, 

We've dreamed of thee, 
And in merry autumn 

With joy and glee 
We've laid up our treasures 

For fathers and mothers, 

And sisters and brothers, 
And longed for the Christmas tree. 
Oh, see how 'tis laden with fruit of gold, 
And gifts fraught with kindness and love untold I 

The harvest we'll gather, 

And give to each other. 
Hurrah ! then, hurrah for the Christmas tree. 



CHRISTMAS. 

Oh, the days of the fading year 

Are bright days for me, 
With their pleasant sun and wintry air, 

And merry Christmas tree. 

When the north wind blows loud and clear, 

Like trumpet afar, 
Oh, the icy months are welcome here, 

And their king in snowy car ! 

Now, a merry Christmas to you all, 

A happy New Year too ; 
And may life so brightly pass away, 

With the old year and the new. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 129 



LITTLE MAY'S NEW-YEAR WISH. 

Ere the tripping feet of dawn. 
Chased the night and led the morn, 
Little May, in haste to rise, 
Opened wide her laughing eyes. 

Brushing, with a gentle grace, 
Tangled curls from off her face, 
Noiselessly, she found her way 
Where her mother, sleeping, lay. 

" Happy New Year, mother, dear!" 
Breathed she in the loved one^ ear ; 
" Happy New Year, pa, for you ! 
Little baby brother, too ! " 

Quickly then her eyes of blue, . 
Very, very thoughtful grew ; 
Then she drew close to the bed, 
And, in softest accents, said : 
" Mother, will not Uesus listen, 
If I send one up to heaven ? " 

When the mother gave assent, 

On the carpet low she bent, 

And exclaimed, with joy absorbed, 

1 ' Wish you Happy New Year, Lord ! n 

Then, she said, with beaming brow, 
" I'll be good the whole year, now ; 
That I know 's the only way 
To make him happy every day." 

Little children, wouldn't you 
Like to make him happy too ? 
Then you must, like little May, 
Be good children every day. 



130 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

A CHRISTMAS PICTURE. 

Brightly gleamed the golden sunlight 

On a merry Christmas morn ; 
Earth hath donned her purest vestment 

For the coming of the dawn ; 
'Neath their weight of glistening jewels 

Tree and shrub were bending low ; 
On that ^glorious festal morning 

Nature seemed with joy aglow. 

Bright eyes beamed with expectation, 
Gayly danced light, dainty feet, 

Eager hands clasped gifts and tokens, 
Greetings glad made music sweet ; 

God have pity on the children 
. Man that morning proudly scorned, 

Upon whom no happy Christmas 
With its light and gladness dawned ! 

What heart, 'mid the joyful many, 

Thought in gratitude to lift 
Songs of praise to God, the giver, 

For this priceless Christmas gift ? 
Even for his Son, our Saviour, 

Who for us came down to earth, 
And in Bethlehem's humble stable 

In a manger had his birth ; 

Who with meekness suffered insult, 

When by unjust judges tried, 
Wore the purple robe and thorn-crown, 

And for us on Calvary died ! 
Oh, that man should te unthankful, 

While celestial arches ring 
With the loud triumphant praises 

Of our Lord, the Eternal King ! 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. . 131 



A LESSON. 

My dearest friends, I have no song to give you, — 
No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray, — 
Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you 
For every day. 

Be good, dear friends, and let who will be clever ; 
Do noble things, not dream them, all day long ; 
And so make life, death, and that vast forever, 
One grand, sweet song. 



BERTHA'S CHRISTMAS VISION. 

[Scene. In a chamber; Bertha sits on a lounge, meditating.] 

Bertha. [Speaking slowly and thoughtfully.'] It is a cold night. 
St. Nicholas will have a hard time of it. What if he should 
not come at all? \Tlie sound of bells is heard without, ap- 
proaching nearer and nearer, till at length it pauses under her 
window, and, a moment afterwards, is heard in an opposite 
direction.] Can it be St. Nicholas ? [She listens. Mingling 
with the sound of the retreating bells she distinguishes the words of 
a song.] 

[Santa Claus sings without:—] 

The path I have chosen 

Is covered with snow ; 
The streams are all frozen, 

Yet onward I go. 

While sleigh-bells are ringing 

Upon the highway, 
And glad parties singing 

So thoughtless and gay, — 



132 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

I pass through and over 

Each hamlet and hall, 
Ere mortals discover 

Who gave them a call. 

I pause but to count o'er 

The gifts for each one, 
And then quickly mount o'er 

The stile. I am gone ! " 

Bertha. That must certainly be Santa Claus. [Hangs up 
her stocking, then lies down on lounge, and soon falls asleep. ,] 

[Three figures dressed in white, enter, and slowly advance, hand in hand, till 
they stand beside her. Together they chant — Tune, "Haste thee, Win- 
ter"—] 

Maiden, from the fields of air, 

We have winged our rapid flight, 
Bringing gifts both rich and rare, 

On this frosty Christmas night, 
Guard them ever ; they will be 

Of exceeding worth to thee. 

-Bertha, \Awa~kened, inquires with astonishment,'] What! are 
you St. Nicholas? Or Recollecting herself] perhaps you are 
his sisters ? 

[The visitors resume their chant : — ] 

Maiden, no ! Thy Christmas saint 
Beareth gifts of mortal taint ; 
At the touch of sure decay 
They shall vanish quite away. 
Those we bear are not of earth, 
Theirs has been a higher birth. 

[One of the visitors, coming forward, speaks : — ] 

I am Faith. To thee I bear 

Childlike trust and confidence 
In the ever-watchful care 

Of our Father's providence. 
Maiden, one of sisters, three, 

This the gift I bear to thee. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 133 

• [The second comes forward, and repeats : — ] 

I am Hope. When darksome clouds 

Gather round thy earthly way, 
And misfortune's shadowy veil 

Intercepts the light of day, 
I will come on wings of light ; 

Clouds and mist shall straightway fly, 
And reveal the golden gates 

Of a happier home on high. 
Maiden, one of sisters three, 

This the gift I bear to thee. 

[The third advances, saying: — ] 

I am Charity. Let me 

Ever on thy steps attend, 
And, as long as life shall last, 

Be thy counsellor and friend. 
In thy bosom I would sow 

Seeds of gentleness and love, 
And, a resident of earth, 

Fit thee for a home above. 
Maiden, last of sisters three, 

This the gift I bear to thee. 

[Again the sisters join hands, and, with united voices, chant, as at first. 
Tune, " Haste thee, Winter."] 

Maiden, from the fields of air 

We have winged our rapid flight, 
Bringing gifts both rich and rare, 

On this frosty Christmas night. 

Faith, and Hope, and Charity ! 

Earthly maiden, sisters three, 

These the gifts we bear to thee, — 

These the gifts we bear to thee. 

[Exit sisters.] 

[Bertha repeats, slowly and thoughtfully : — ] 

Maiden, no ! Thy Christmas saint 
Beareth gifts of mortal taint. 



134 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

Those we bear are not of earth, 
Theirs has been a higher birth. 

Bertha. I will not forget the gifts of the good sisters. 
Doubtless it is my heavenly Father who has sent them to me. 

But hark ! what means that merry strain, 

Is it the sisters come again ? 

I hear swift coursers. Now they pause, 

It is, — I'm sure 'tis Santa Claus, 

I'll run and hide, lest he should see 

That I am here, and straightway flee. 

[To be followed by the entrance of Santa Claus, who delivers his " speech," 
given on another page.] 



A CHRISTMAS GREETING. 

Hail ! merry Christmas morn ! 
Though cold winds blow, 
O'er frost and snow, 

Our youthful hearts are warm and light. 
Our eyes with joy are beaming bright ; 

Hail ! merry Christmas morn ! 

Hurrah ! hurrah for Santa Claus ! 
For he is reigning king to-day ; 
To him our best respects we pay. 
He knows where little stockings hang ; 
Knows empty ones give such a pang ! 
He never wearies, ne'er grows old ; 
He never shrinks from frost or cold ; 
He ne'er the " little ones " forgets, 
But gives to all his little pets. 

Hurrah ! hurrah for Santa Claus ! 

Oh, bring the brilliant holly bough ! 

Its glossy leaves shall crown each brow. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 135 

We'll deck our home with garlands fair, 
And gifts of love we all will share. 
But oh, we'll not forget the poor, 
With frost and hunger at their door ; 
We'll give them something from our store, 
And pray to God to give them more. 

We'll not forget, in all our mirth, 

The blessed One who came to earth, 

From his bright home in heaven above, 

To tell us of his matchless love. 

Will ne'er forget 'tis his birthday, 

But first to him our homage pay ; 

For through his love our blessings come, — 

He gives us parents, friends, and home. 

A merry Christmas, friends, toyou 
Whose love has ever been so true ; 
Who've watched us with such patient care, 
And strove our waywardness to bear. 
We thank you more than we can prove 
For all your kindly acts of love. 
May many a merry Christmas yet 
Be yours before life's sun shall set; 
And may we all at last, dear friends, 
Meet where sweet Christmas never ends. 

M. D. B. 



A MERRY CHRISTMAS GREETING. 

Hail to the merry Christmas morn 

That dawns in the eastern skies ! 
Let the earth rejoice with a merry voice 

As the darkness in the sunlight dies. 
Let the shadows flee from a sorrowing world, — 

For a Child to us is born ; 
Let the crowns of snow on the hilltops glow, — 

'Tis the merry Christmas morn. 



136 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

Hail to the merry Christmas day, 

And the good old-fashioned times, 
That come each year with the Christmas cheer, 

And the ringing of the Christmas chimes ! 
When the grandsire sits by the ruddy fire, 

With his sons and daughters fair, 
And the merry beat of the childish feet 

Is the sweetest music there. 

Hail to the merry Christmas tree ! 

Decked out with a loving hand, 
That fills each head in the trundle-bed 

With visions of a fairy-land, — 
Of the stockings large, and the stockings small, 

And the stockings red and blue, 
Hung, side by side, in the chimney wide, 

For old Santa Claus to view. 

Hail ! all hail to the earnest hearts 

That have bravely helped us through ! 
To each faithful friend we a greeting send, 

And a " Merry, merry Christmas," too. 
That each coming year may be merrier still, 

As the seasons roll away, 
Let us still renew all these greetings true 

On each merry Christmas day. 

Mrs. M. A. Kidder. 



CHRISTMAS HYMN. 

Round our sparkling Christmas tree 
Now we form a gladsome ring ; 

Children of the Lord are we ; 
In his praise our hymn we sing. 

Thanks to Him whose tender love, 
In the wintry midnight wild, 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 137 

Sent the Saviour from above, — 
Gentle Jesus, holy Child. 

Heaven with joy and music rang, 

Silvery stars broke silence then, 
Angel voices, greeting, sang, — 

Peace on earth — good-will to men ! 

Now once more the night comes round; 

Now the hour once more draws near, 
When that anthem's holy sound 

Falls on fancy's listening ear. 

On our hearts, oh, let it thrill, 

Jesus there be born again, 
And with peace our bosoms fill — 

Peace on earth — good-will to men ! 

C. T. Brooks. 



AN OLD LEGEND. 

The snow came falling, fast and fair, 
Down through the wintry night ; 

The Christmas, lights shone everywhere, 
The city streets were brigfet ; 

And loud the* sweet cathedral bells 
Chimed praises and delight. 

But out amid the falling snow, 

Forsaken and alone, 
A little child went wandering slow, 

And making piteous moan ; 
For his father and his mother dear 

Up unto heaven were gone. 



138 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

He saw the fruitful Christmas trees 
Spread out their gracious boughs : 

He saw, between the curtains red, 
The children's shining brows, 

And the little Christ-child sitting high 
To hear their thankful vows. 

Then loud he cried, and sobbed full sore ; 

No mother dear had he 
To fill his apron from her store, 

And take him on her knee. 
He cried, till a rich woman heard, 

And came outside to see. 

" O lady ! give me fire and food, 

I am so starved and cold ; 
Please do the little orphan good, 

For God has sent you gold ! " 
But she said, " Begone, thou beggar boy! 

My house no more can hold." 

She shut him out into the night, I 
And went among her own ; 

She sat upon a cushion bright, 
He on the stepping-stone, 

And his tears made little drops of ice, 
As he sat there alone. 

But down tjjje wide and snowy street 

He saw another child, 
With silver sandals on his feet, 

Float through the tempest wild, 
His snow-white garments shining fair 

As if a sunbeam smiled. 

Right onward to the orphan lad 
Down the wide street he came, 

And, in a voice full sweet and glad, 
He called him by his name, 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 139 

And the little weary child grew warm, 
Forgetting pain and shame. 

" Thou hast no home, thou little one, 

But thou shalt go with me ; 
I saw thee sitting all alone, 

And I came a/ter thee. 
Now look up to the heavens above, — 

Behold thy Christmas tree ! " 

The boy looked up to heaven above ;• 

His tears forgot to flow, — 
For the Christ-child with his looks of love 

Had charmed away the snow, 
And from a tree, all set with stars, 

Angels passed to and fro. 

" Come up ! come up, thou little boy ! 
Come up to heaven on high ! 
* Thy Christmas tide shall dawn in joy." 

He cjasped him lovingly, 
And the Christ-child and the orphan lad 
Kept Christmas in the sky. 



THE SNOW. 

[A dialogue for two boys, the elder of whom should give the replies. The 
questioner should not be over eight years old, and one still younger would 
be preferable.] 

Frank. Oh, where does it come from, the beautiful snow, 
That sails down the still air, so peaceful and slow ? 
See, brother, these flakes, — how like feathers they fly ! — 
Do they drop from the wings of the angels on high ? 
Sometimes one lights on my hand ; do you know, 
Dear brother, whence cometh this beautiful snow ? 



140 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

George. Dear Frank, do you see the gray clouds rolling by ? 
How they spread their dark banners all over the sky ! 
They are born of the mist; they're exhaled from the deep ; 
And rain, snow, and hail are the treasures they keep. 
When God opes the windows of heaven, they fall, 
As his blessings and mercies, alike upon all ; 
As from dark clouds the whitest of treasures take wing, 
So from troubles, the brightest of pleasures may spring. 

Frank. How beautiful ! brother, the hilltops grow white 
And the gems on the trees shine, like stars in the night, 
When the sun, through the clouds, sets the earth all aglow, 
And ten thousand ice-diamonds flash light from the snow ; 
Flake follows on flake to the dark, flowing river ; 
One moment they stay, and are then gone forever. 

George. 'Tis thus, my dear Frank, with earth's beautiful things ; 
We but see the bright glance of their delicate wings ; 
We think like Manoah, the visions are won, 
We gaze, like Manoah, and lo, they are gone ; » 
For Time, like the river, bears quickly away 
The beautiful treasures we cherish to-day, 
Nor gives us surcease from the losses we sorrow, 
For our hopes of to-day are its trophies to-morrow. 



THE FAIRY'S ADDRESS. 

[To be spoken by two little girls. The second fairy should be younger. Both 
should be dressed in white and, if possible, both should wear wings. The 
second one does not enter till the first fairy says, " Hither, my little attend- 
ant sprite 1 " If feasible, there should be an evergreen " bower " erected, in 
place of the usual " tree," on which to hang the gifts. A dozen or more of 
the smaller articles should be placed in a silver basket for the first fairy to 
distribute at the close of her " address." She holds the basket in one hand 
while speaking ; in the other she has a wand."] 

First fairy. In ancient times old Santa Claus 
The patron saint of children was ; 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 141 

And 3very year, before Christmas day, 

DraTin in his little reindeer-sleigh, 

Muffled in furs, his pipe a-light, 

With his lantern to guide him through the night, 

Over the roofs he sped amain, 

Down the chimneys and up again, 

Carrying gifts to girls and boys, 

And never making a bit of noise, 

Lest the children should waken, as they lay, 

Ready to spring, at break of day, 

The little stockings to explore 

Which they had hung up the night before. 

Oh, 'twas a merry sight to see 
The little saint, all full of glee, 
Chuckling, as down the chimney he slid, 
And his pretty toys in the stocking* hid ! 

But alack ! alas ! as the years they flew, 

Fewer and fewer his visits grew ; 

Where he was gone no one could say, 

Or what had driven the saint away. 

The children sighed, and the parents wondered, 

And how to get presents they all of them pondered. 

But not long ago, in far Lapland 

(Where the snows even summer's heat withstand), 

A forester, hieing home at night, 

Saw, approaching, a little wight ; 

And, hastening on to see who it was, — 

There was our long-lost Santa Glaus ! 

His deer were too tired for him to ride, 

So he was jogging along beside ; 

His sleigh was broken, his shoes were worn, 

His little jacket was soiled and torn, 

His fingers were cold, and his pipe was out, 

And Santa Claus was in quite a pout ! 



142 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

" What is the matter? " the forester cries, — 

Never a word St. Nick replies. 

Twice again does the woodman call, 

And thought he should get no answer at all. 

Till, jumping down from his own stout sleigh, 

Says he, " Have you had any dinner to-day % " 

Poor Santa Claus was tired and faint ; 

There never was such a sad little saint. 

So, when the woodman took out some meat, 

And some bread and cheese, and asked him to eat, 

He couldn't refuse, — but stopped his deer, 

And came to share the peasant's cheer. 

Well, at last they began to chat 

Of the times, and the weather, and this, and that, 

Till, by and by, the woodman stout 

Grew so bold that he asked right out : 

" Mr. Santa CJlaus," said he, with a bow, 

" Please excuse, — but I do want to know ; 

You used to hitch up your reindeer team, 

And over the snowy fields would skim, 

Faster than any man could believe, 

All round the world on Christmas Eve. 

But now I read in the papers, sir, 

That Santa Claus is seen nowhere, 

And never comes down the chimneys now, 

Nor hangs a gift on a Christmas bough. 

Have you lost your love, dear sir, pray tell, 

For the children you used to love so well ? " 

The peasant paused : St. Nicholas sighed, 

And in sorrowful accents thus replied : — 

" No, woodman kind, I should love to go, 

As in days gone by, o'er the shining snow, 

Over the roofs of many a town, 

Carrying presents the chimneys down : 

But then the chimneys were big and broad, 

You could roll the logs in by the cord ; 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 143 

Now wood has grown dear, and it's coal folks burn, 
And the chimneys have all so narrow grown, 
That " (the little fellow cried with a frown) 
"They squeeze me tight, and I can't get down." 

St. Nick disappeared, — and now, children dear, 

I'll tell how a fairy comes to be here. 

/live in Lapland too, and last May, 

Flitting along so blithe and gay, 

Through the woods where the wolf the reindeer tracks 

I heard the sound of this woodman's axe ; 

And (stopping awhile his heart to cheer 

With a little talk) I cl^nced to hear 

The whole of the story, — and how it was, 

With little old Father Santa Claus. 

" Poor old fellow ! " said I, " but, dear me ! 

What the children will do I cannot see. 

Ha, ha ! I have it ! we fairies are small, — 

We can go through a keyhole, wings and all. 

We must work, make gifts on our dancing-ground, 

And go next Christmas and carry them round." 

So here I am ! tra la la ! ha ha ! 
On a zephyr's breath, like a shooting star ; 
My sisters are everywhere busy too, 
And I have brought your presents to you. 
Your teachers very good stories tell, 
That you have all behaved so well, 
And got your lessons, and sing so loud, 
And how, in season, to school you crowd, 
That I am delighted, — and so now, come ! 
Here are gifts for you all to take home. 

Second fairy. Hither, my little attendant sprite ! 
Did you ever see a merrier sight ? 
Come, as I call numbers, take books and toys, 
And give them to these good girls and boys. 



144 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

[The first fairy then calls the numbers of the gifts in her basket, which her 
companion distributes. After which the second fairy says : — J 

And now in the name of the fairies, 

I shall have to bid you all good-by ; 

There are other children who anxiously wait, 

And I see by the clock it is getting late ; 

But we leave behind a bower well laden 

With gifts and presents for youth and maiden. 

But the minutes fly, 

And so must I. 
Merry Christmas, good people, and with it good-by. 

S. S. Gazette 



THE POOR BOY'S PRAYER TO SAINT 
NICHOLAS. 

I saw in my dream, and a poor boy prayed, 

And these were the words of the prayer which he said : 

" St. Nicholas ! once I used to be glad 

When Christmas came round, but now I am sad ! 

For since we've been poor you never come near us, — 

We are so far down town I suppose you can't hear us. 

You are busy up town with all your gay things, — 

Books, balls, candy, cakes, fruit, penknives, and rings ; 

I don't ask for these, but for something to eat, 

Some clothing, and firing, and shoes for my feet ; 

Oh ! was it the way which the saints did of yore, 

To give to the rich, and not visit the poor ? 

Come, come to us now, and prove you're no stranger 

To Him who, to bless us, was born in a manger. 

But, if you should come, — mind ! a bare-legged boy 

No stockings can hang for your sweet gifts of joy ! 

So bring me, good saint, if you know how to spin them. 

A pair of warm socks, and some bits of bread in them." 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 145 

So ended his prayer, — and strange it did seem, — 
Just then I awoke, and, behold ! 'twas a dream. 

Christian Register. 



THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 

Teachers and friends and everybody here, 
We greet you all with hearty Christmas cheer ; 
For very happy boys and girls are we, 
In sight of this our goodly Christmas tree. 

Many the trees that all around us rise, 

On fair New England ground, beneath her skies; 

The stately pine and cedar tree so tall, 

Apple and pear, beside the orchard wall, 

The willow by the stream, the elms so grand, 

That near the old and quiet farm-house stand, — 

All these are beautiful, indeed, and fair, 

But this tree has an inspiration rare ; 

Its green is special green on this glad day, 

Its fruits, which hang around in such array, 

Are more to us than other trees might yield, 

In forest, highway, garden-place, or field. 

No bitter fruit, no offer grudged is here, 

But love's kind tokens everywhere appear. 

We do not look and long, and all in vain, 

And while we wish, still find our wants remain. 

We've had the promise, and, as friends are true, 

We are to have the good they promised too. 

And while we're here in youthful joy and glee, 

To watch the gathering of our Christmas tree, 

We would remember those who cannot share 

In greetings so delightful, gifts so rare, — 

The many little ones who never heard 

The blessed gospel of God's holy word, 

Who never lived where Christian truth had rule, 

Nor went to church, nor joined the Sabbath school. 



146 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

We wish that they, this Christmas time, could be 
As favored, happy, cherished, blest as we. 
But as we cannot, with our means so small, 
Reach out our little arms to bless them all, 
We can resolve to do the next best thing, 
And see how many others we can bring 
!To learn of Him whose word will always be, 
" Suffer the little ones to come to me." 

And now a happy Christmas time to all 
Who meet to-night within our festal hall ; 
May every one be pleased his gifts to see, 
However great or small they chance to be. 
Their cost no moneys ever can declare ; — 
The gift is rich because a heart is there. 
A happy Christmas time to all, we say, 
God bless all Sabbath schools on this glad day ! 
* May soldiers of the cross be trained therein 
To overcome the power of wrong and sin, 
To make our land, once rent with awful strife, 
A dwelling place of heavenly love and life ; 
To wake that olden Christmas song again, — 
" Peace on the earth ! good-will, good-will to men ! 



THE ANGELS OF THE SEVEN PLANETS. 

BEARING THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. 

[This is a very good piece for a Sunday-school concert, as neither curtain nor 
stage is absolutely essential. Indeed, most of the pieces have been used at 
various times with only a low platform, which can be easily arranged. Seven 
young girls are necessary to personate the " angels." They sing in the ex- 
try the first verse. It can be adapted to the air " I offer thee this heart of 
mine — S. S. Bell, No. 2, page 92 — by omitting the third and seventh lines 
of that tune. Just as they commence the last line, the remainder of the 
school, who occupy the front seats, sing the following chorus— S. S. Bell, 
No. 2, page 6: — ] 

Oh ! don't you hear the angels singing, singing as they come ? 
Oh ! bear me, angels, angels, bear me home. 



THE SVXDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 



147 



[As the last strain of the music dies away, the 'angels enter, singing the first 
verse again, and go up the centre aisle. The foremost one should bear a 
wand, on the upper end of which is a glittering star. After reaching the 
platform, they arrange themselves in a semicircle, the one bearing a star in 
the centre. After each has recited her verse, they march down the aisle 
singing the first verse again, the one bearing the star taking the lead. Ad- 
ditional eflect can be given by the girls wearing white dresses and crowns 
made of gilt paper.] 

All sing. The Angels of the Planets Seven, 
Across the shining fields of heaven 

The natal Star we bring ! 
Dropping our sevenfold virtues down 
As priceless jewels in the crown 
Of Christ, our new-born King. 

Bapliael. I am the Angel of the Sun, 

Whose flaming wheels began to run 

When God's Almighty breath #■ 

Said to the darkness and the night, 
Let there be light ! and there was light ! — 

I bring the gift of Faith ! 

Gabriel. I am the Angel of the Moon, 

Darkened, to be rekindled soon 

Beneath the azure cojDe ! 
Nearest to earth, it is my ray 
That best illumes the midnight way, — 
I bring the gift of Hope ! 

Anael. The Angel of the Star of Love, 

The Evening Star, that shines above 

The place where lovers be, 
Above all happy hearths and homes, 
On roofs of thatch, or golden domes, — 
I give him Charity ! 



Zobiachel. The Planet Jupiter is mine ! 

The mightiest star of all that shine, 
Except the sun alone ! 



148 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 



He is the High Priest of the Dove, 
And sends, from the great throne above, 
Justice, that shall atone ! 

Michael. The Planet Mercury, whose place 
Is nearest to the sun in space, 

Is my allotted sphere ! 
And with celestial ardor swift, 
I bear upon my hands the gift 

Of heavenly Prudence here ! 

Uriel. I am the Minister of Mars, 

The strongest star among the stars ! 

My songs of power preclude 
The march and battle of man's life, 
And, for the suffering and the strife, 

I give him Fortitude I 

Anacliiel. The Angel of the uttermost 

Of all the shining, heavenly host, 

From the far-off expanse 
Of the Saturnian, endless space, 
I bring the last, the crowning grace, 
The gift of Temperance ! 

From Longfellow's Golden Legend. 



CHRISTMAS. 

A merry, merry Christmas ! 

To crown the closing year ; 
Peace and good-will to mortals, 

And words of holy cheer ! 

What though the dreary landscape 
Be robed in drifting snow, 

If on the social hearthstone 
The Christmas fire may glow ? 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 149 

What though the wind of evening 

Blow harsh o'er land and sea, 
If eager hands and joyful 

Light up the Christmas tree ? 

Soft falls its pleasing lustre 

Upon the group around, — 
On merry, laughing childhood, 

And age with glory crowned. 

With eyes of rapture beaming, 

Each little guest receives 
Affection's token gleaming 

From out the shining leaves. 

The grand-dame greets her children, 

And smiles their joy to see ; 
On Christmas eves of olden 

So eager once was she. 

With peace serene and beautiful 

Her waning life shall shine, 
As Christmas crowns the twelve months 

With light and joy divine. 

A. M. E. 



MABEL'S WONDER. 

" There must be flowers in heaven," 
Little Mabel, wondering, cried, 

As she gazed through the frosty window, 
" Ah, yes, ah, yes," I replied. 

" And every single blossom 

Is white as white can be ! " 
" Perhaps," I carelessly answered ; 

" When we get there, we shall see." 



150 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

" And, oh ! they have ever so many, 
Why, every tree must be full.'" 

" Of course, — spring lasts forever 
In heaven," I answered, so dull. 

*' Do the angels get tired of flowers ? " 
Asked she, with a gentle sigh ; 

"For see, oh, see, they are throwing 
Whole handfuls down from the sky." 

I sprang to the frosted window 
To see what the child could mean. 

The ground was covered with snowflakes, 
And the air was full between. 

I kissed my innocent darling, 

And speedily set her right, 
While I prayed that her heart might ever 

Be pure as the snow and as bright. 



THE BIRDS. 

HUMMING-BIRD. 

I wish I were a humming-bird, 

A tiny little thing, 
With feathers light and airy, 

And a brilliant rainbow wing ; 
Fleet as a sound, I'd fly, I'd fly, 

Away from fear and harm, 
Over the flowers, and through the air, 

Inhaling heavenly balm. 

LARK. 

I'd rather be a lark to rise, 

When the sleep of night is done ; 

And higher, higher through the skies 
Soar to the morning sun ; 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 151 

And clearer, sweeter, as I rise, 

With rapture I would sing, 
While diadems from heaven's own light 

Would sparkle on my wings. 

NIGHTINGALE. 

Td like to be a nightingale ; 

She sings the sweetest song; 
The daylight gone, her voice is heard 

In tune the whole night long. 
The stars look down from heaven's dome, 

The pale moon rolls along ; 
And maybe angels live up there, 

And listen to her song. 

EAGLE. 

Of all the birds that sing so sweet, 

And roam the air so free, 
With pinions firm, and proud, and strong, 

The eagle I would be ; 
On some high mount whose rugged peaks 

Beyond the clouds do rest, 
There, in the blaze of day, I'd find 

My shelter, and my rest. 

DO YE. 

The humming-bird's a pretty thing, 

The lark flies very high, 
The eagle-bird is proud and strong, 

The nightingale sings lullaby ; 
But, as I want a nature 

That every one can love, 
And would be gentle, mild, and graceful, * 

I think I'll be a dove. 

CHICKADEE. 

I'll tell you what I want to be, — 
A little, merry chickadee ; 



152 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

la the storm and in the snow, 
When the cold winds fiercely blow, 
Not to mind the wintry blast, 
Nor how long the storm may last, 
Active, merry, blithe, and free, 
This 's the bird I'd like to be. 



RESPONSE. 

I do not want to be a bird, 

And really had not you 
Much rather be like all the birds, ' 

And yet be children too ? 
The humming-bird, from bloom to bloom, 

Inhales the heavenly balm ; 
So we from all may gather good, 

And still reject the harm. 
And, like the lark, our minds arise, 

By aspirations given, 
To bathe our souls, as she her wings, 

In the pure light of heaven. 
The nightingale sings all the night, 

In sweet, harmonious lays ; 
So, in the night of sorrow, we 

Should sing our Maker's praise. 
The eagle, firm, and proud, and strong, 

On his own strength relying, 
Soars through the storm, the lightning's glare, 

And thunders bold defying, 
Till far above the clouds and storm, 

High on some mountain crest, 
fie finds the sun's clear light at last, 

And there he goes to rest. 
Be ours a spirit firm and true, 

Bold in the cause of right, 
Ever steadily onward moving, 

And upward to the light ; 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 15c 

But still as gentle as the dove, 

As loving and as true ; 
Every word and act be kindness, 

All life's journey through ; 
Always thankful, happy, free, 

Though life's tempests fiercely blow ; 
Cheerful as a chickadee 

Flying through the wintry snow. 

Myra A. Shattuck. 



THE PRETTY PICTURES. 

[To be spoken by quite a young child.] 

I am a little peasant girl, — 

My father's very poor ; 
Xo rich and handsome things have we, 

Iso carpet on our floor ; • 

And yet this morning when I woke, 

I saw, to my surprise, 
Four pretty pictures in my room, 

Alike in shape and size. 

The first was of a lake so clear, 

With woods encircled round ; 
Through which there sprang a frightened deer, 

Pursued by many a hound. 

The second is a quiet stream, 
Which though the valley winds ; 

Tall trees and shrubs are on the brink, 
And flowers of various kinds. 

The next a little hamlet seems, 

With its neat church and spire ; 
Behind it hills and mountains rise 

Up to the clouds and higher. 



154 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

The last is a vast waterfall, 
Which a broad lake supplies ; 

Masses of water tumble down, 
And clouds of spray arise. 

These pictures all will fade away, — 
I know it to nay sorrow ; 

But mother says she thinks I'll have 
Four other ones to-morrow. 

Who gives them to me, do you ask? 

And how much do they cost? 
The giver I have never seen, 

The painter is Jack Frost. 



THE CHILDREN'S CHURCH. 

I've worshipped where the mighty kneel 
Before the Mightiest in prayer ; 

And with the noble organ's peal 
My mingling hymn has risen there. 

I've met where two or three have met 
Before the throne in tears to lie ; 

Nor would my soul that hour forget, 
When, in communion, God passed by. 

Yet higher privilege for me, 

I covet not to be revealed, 
Than a glad worshipper to be 

Where children have in beauty kneeled. 

To mingle mine with their pure prayers, 
. When they, like little cherubs, bend ; 
To join my voice and heart with theirs, 
In anthems to our heavenly Friend. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 155 

That melody ! it knows not art ; 

That simple prayer ! I feel 'tis true ; 
In Jesus, children, have a part, 

'Tis theirs to love and worship too. 

And there, before the eternal throne, 
Censers to such dear ones are given ; 

Their lisping harps of silver tone 
Ring sweetest 'mid the choirs of heaven. 



MY LAMBS. 

I loved them so, 
That when the Elder Shepherd of the fold 
Came, covered with the storm, and pale, and cold, 
And begged for one of my sweet lambs to hold, 

I bade him go. 

He claimed the pet, — 
A little fondling thing, that to my breast 
Clung always, either in quiet or unrest, — 
I thought of all my lambs I loved him best, 

And yet — and yet — 

I laid him down 
In those white, shrouded arms, with bitter tears ; 
For some voice told me, that in after-years 
He should know naught of passion, grief, or fears, 

As I had known. 

And yet again 
That Elder Shepherd came. My heart grew faint ; 
He claimed another lamb, with sadder plaint; 
Another ! She, who gentle as a saint. 

Ne'er gave me pain. 



156 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

Aghast I turned away ! 
There sat she, lovely as an angel's dream, 
Her golden locks with sunlight all agleam, 
Her holy eyes with heaven in their beam. 

I knelt to pray, — 

" Is it Thy will? 
My Father, say, must this pet lamb be given ? 
Oh! Thou hast many such, clear Lord, in heaven.*' 
And a soft voice said, " Nobly hast thou striven ; 

But, peace, be still." 

Oh, how I wept ! 
And clasped her to my bosom, with a wild 
And yearning love, — my lamb, my pleasant child. 
Her too I gave. The little angel smiled, 

And slept. 

" Go! go!" I cried: 
For once again that Shepherd laid his hand 
Upon the noblest of our household band ; 
Like a pale spectre, there he took his stand, 

Close to his side. 



And yet how wondrous sweet 
The look with which he heard my passionate cry : 
" Touch not my lamb ; for him, oh, let me die ! " 
" A little while," he said, with smile and sigh, 

" Again to meet." 

Hopeless I fell ; 
And when I rose, the light had burned so low, 
So faint, I could not see my darling go : 
He had not bidden me farewell, but, oh ! 

I felt farewell 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 157 

More deeply, far, 
Than if my arms had compassed that slight frame : 
Though, could I but have heard him call my name — 
" Dear Mother ! " — but in heaven 'twill be the same ; 

There burns my star ! 

He will not take 
Another lamb, I thought, for only one 
Of the dear fold is spared to be my sun, 
My guide ; my mourner when this life is done : 

My heart would break. 

. Oh ! with what thrill 
I heard him enter ; but I did not know 
. (For it was dark) that he had robbed me so. 
The iddl of my soul — he could not go — 
O heart ! be still ! 



Came morning.* Can I tell 
How this poor ffeme \X§ sorrowful tenant kept ? 
For, waking, tears were mine ; I, sleeping, wept, 
And days, months, years, that weary vigil kept. 

Alas! "Farewell!" 



How often it is said ! 
I sit, and think, and wonder too, sometime, 
How it will seem, when, in that happier clime, 
It never will ring out like funeral chime 

Over the dead. 

No tears ? no tears ? 
Will there a day come that I shall not weep? 
For I bedew my pillow in my sleep. 
Yes, yes ; thank God ! no grief that clime shall keep, 

No weary years. 



158 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

Ay ! it is well ; 
Well with my lambs, and with their earthly guide; 
There, pleasant rivers wander they beside, 
Or strike sweet harps upon its silver tide — 

Ay ! it is well. 

Through the dreary day 
They often come from glorious light to me ; 
I cannot feel their touch, their faces see, 
Yet my soul whispers, they do come to me ; 

Heaven is not far away. 



AN ANGEL OF PATIENCE. 

Beside the toilsome way, 

Weary and sad, by fruit and flowers unblest, 
Which my worn feet tread sadly, day by day, 

Longing in vain for rest, 

An angel softly walks, • 

With pale, sweet face, and eyes cast meekly down, 
The while from withered leaves, and flowerless stalks, 

She weaves my fitting crown. 

A sweet and patient grace, 

AJook of firm endurance, true and tried, 
Of suffering meekly borne, rests on her face 

So pure — so glorified. 
# 
And when my fainting heart 

Desponds, and murmurs at the adverse fate, 
Then quietly the angel's bright lips part, 

Murmuring softly — " Wait ! " 

"Patience," she sweetly saith, 
" Thy Father's mercies never come too late ; 



THE 'SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 159 

Gird thee with patient strength and trusting faith, 
And firm endurance — wait ! " 

" Angel ! behold — I wait, 

Wearing the thorny crown through all life's hours, — 
Wait till thy hand shall ope the eternal gate, 

And change the thorns £o flowers." 

5 Florence Percy. 



SCENES "ON JORDAN'S STRAND." 

There came a little child, with sunny hair, 
All fearless to the brink of Death's dark river, 

And with a sweet confiding in the care 
Of Him w T ho is of life the Joy and Giver ; 

And, as upon the waves she left our sight, 

We heard her say, " My Saviour makes them bright." 

Next came a youth, with bearing most serene, 
Nor turned a single backward look of sadness ; 

But, as he left each gay and flowery scene, 

Smiling declared, " My soul is thrilled with gladness ! 

What earth deems bright forever I resign, 

Joyful but this to know, that Christ is mine." 

An aged mourner, trembling, tottered by, 
And paused a moment by the swelling river ; 

Then glided on beneath the shadowy sky, 

Singing, " Christ Jesus is my strength forever ! 

Upon his arm my feeble soul I lean ; 

My glance meets his without a cloud between." 

And scarce her last triumphant note had died, 
Ere hastened on a man of wealth and learning, 

Who cast, at once, his bright renown aside, 
These only words unto his friends returning : 



160 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

" Christ for my Wisdom thankfully I own, 
And as ' a little child ' I seek his throne." 

Then saw I this : that whether guileless child, 
Or youth, or age, or genius won salvation, 

Each self -renouncing came ; on each God smiled ; 
Each found the love of Christ rich compensation 

For loss of friend% earth's pleasures and renown ; 

Each entered heaven, and " by his side sat down." 



LIVING WATERS. 

In some wild Eastern legend the story has been told 
Of a fair and wondrous fountain, -that flowed in times of old ; 
Cold and crystalline its waters, brightly glancing in the ray 
Of the summer moon at midnight, or the sun at heignt of day. 

And a good angel resting there, once in a favored hour 
Infused into the limpid depths a strange, mysterious power; 
A hidden principle of life, to rise and gush again, 
Where but some drops were scattered on the dry and barren 
plain. 

So the traveller might journey, not now in fear and haste, 
Far through the mountain desert, far o'er the sandy waste, 
If but he sought this fountain first, and from its wondrous 

store 
The secret of unfailing springs along with him he bore. 

Wild and fanciful the legend, — yet may not meanings high, 
Visions of better things to come, within its shadow lie ? 
Type of a better fountain, to mortals now unsealed, 
The full and free salvation in Christ our Lord revealed? 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 161 

I 

Beneath the Cross those waters rise, and he who finds them 

there 
All through the wilderness of life the living stream may bear ; 
And blessings follow in lift steps, until, where'er he goes, 
The moral wastes begin to bud and blossom as the rose. 

Ho ! every one that thirsteth, come to this fountain side ! 

Drink freely of its waters, drink and be satisfied ! 

Yet linger not, but hasten on, and bear to all around 

Glad tidings of the love and peace and mercy thou hast 

found ! 

•• 

To Afric's pathless deserts, to Greenland's frozen shore, — 
Where din of mighty cities sounds, or savage monsters roar, — 
Wherever man may wander with his heritage of woe, 
To tell of brighter things above, go, brothers, gladly go ! 

Then, as of old in visions seen before the prophet's eyes, 
Broader and- deeper on its course the stream of life shall rise ; 
And everywhere, as on it flows, shall carry light and love, 
Peace and good-will to man on earth, glory to God above ! 



OVER THE RIVER. 

Over the river they beckon to me, — 

Loved ones who've crossed to the further side ; 
The gleam of their snowy robes I see, 

But their voices are drowned in the rushing tic?e. 
There's one with ringlets of sunny gold, 

And eyes the reflection of heaven's own blue ; 
He crossed in the twilight gray and cold, 

And the pale mist hid him from mortal view. 
We saw not the angel who met him there, 

The gates of the city we could not see ; 
Over the river, over the river, 

My brother stands waiting to welcome me. 



162 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

Over the river the boatman pale 

Carried another, —the household pet ; 
Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale, — 

Darling Minnie, I see her yet ! 
She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands, 

And fearlessly entered the phantom bark ; 
We watched it glide from the silver sands, 

And all our sunshine grew strangely dark. 
We know she is safe on the further side, 

Where all the ransomed and angels be ; 
Over the river, the mystic river. 

My childhood's idol is waiting for me. 

For .none return from those quiet shores, 

Who pass with the boatman cold and pale ; 
We hear the dip of the golden oars, 

And catch a gleam of the snowy sail, — 
And, lo ! they have passed from our yearning hearts ; 

They cross the stream and are gone for aye. 
We may not sunder the veil apart 

That hides from our vision the gates of day ; 
We only know that their bark no more 

May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea ; 
Yet somewhere, I know, on this unseen shore, 

They watch, and beckon, and wait for me. 

And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold 

Is flushing river, and hill, and shore, 
I shall one day stand by the water cold, 
• And list for the* sound of the boatman's oar; 
I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail ; 

I shall hear the boat as it gainsthe strand ; 
I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale, 

To the better shore of the spirit land ; 
I shall know the loved who have gone before, 

And joyfully sweet will the meeting be, 
When over the river, the peaceful river, 

The Angel of Death shall carry me. 

Nancy A. W. Priest. 



THE SUXDAT SCHOOL SPEAKER. 163 

COMING. 

; At even, or at midnight, or at the cock-crowing, or in the morning." 

" It may be in the evening, 

When the work of the day is done, 
And you have time to sit in the twilight, 

And watch the sinking sun, 
While the long, bright day dies slowly 

Over the sea, 
And the hour grows quiet and holy 

With thoughts of me ; 
While' you hear the village children 

Passing along the street, 
Among those thronging footsteps, 

May come the sound of my feet ; 
Therefore I tell you : Watch 

By the light of the evening star, 
When the room is growing dusky 

As the clouds afar ; 
Let the door be on the latch 

In your home, 
For it may be through the gloaming 

I will come. 

" It may be wherrthe midnight 

Is heavy upon the land, 
p And the black waves lying dumbly 

Along the sand ; 
When the moonless night draws close, 
And the lights are out in the house ; 

When the fires burn low and red, 
And the watch is ticking loudly 

Beside the bed ; 
Though you sleep, tired out, on your couch, 
Still your heart must wake and watch 

In the dark room, 
For it may be that at midnight 

I will come. 



164 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

" It may be at the cock-crow, 
When the night is dying slowly 

In the sky, 
And the sea looks calm and holy, 

Waiting for the dawn 

Of the golden sun 

Which draweth nigh ; 
When the mists are on the valleys, shading 

The river's chill, 
And my morning-star is fading, fading 

Over the hill ; 
Behold I say unto you : Watch ; 
Let the door be on the latch 

In your home ; 
In the chill before the dawning, 
Between the night and morning, 

I may come. 

" It may be in the morning 

When the sun is bright and strong, 
And the dew is glittering sharply 

Over the little lawn ; 
When the waves are laughing loudly 

Along the shore, 
And the little birds are singing sweetly 

About the door ; m 

With the long day's work before you, 

Yon rise up with the sun, 
And the neighbors come in to talk a little 

Of all that must be done ; 
But remember that /may be the next 

To come in at the door, 
To call you from all your busy work 

For evermore. 
As you work your heart must watch, 
For the door is on the latch 

In your room, 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 165 

And It may be in the morning 
I will come." 

So He passed down my cottage garden, 

By the path that leads to the sea, 
Till He came to the turn of the little road 

Where the birch and laburnum tree 
Lean over and .arch the way ; 
There I saw Him a moment stay, 

And turn once more to me, 

As I wept at the cottage-door, 
And lift up His hands in blessing, — 

Then I saw His face no more. 

And I stood still in the doorway, 

Leaning against the wall, 
Not heeding the fair, white roses, 

Though I crushed them, and let them fall; 
Only looking down the pathway, 

And looking toward the sea, 
And wondering, and wondering 

When He would come back for me ; 
Till I was aware of an angel 

Who was going swiftly by, 
With the gladness of one who goeth 

In the light of God Most High. 

He passed the end of the cottage 

Toward the garden-gate, — 
(I suppose he was coming down 

At the setting of the sun 
To comfort some one in the village 

Whose dwelling was desolate) ; 
And he paused before the door 

Beside my place, ' 
And the likeness of a smile 

Was on his face. 



166 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

" Weep not," he said, " for unto you is given 

To watch for the coming of His feet 
Who is the glory of our blesse'd heaven ; 

The work and watching will be very sweet, 

Even in an earthly home ; 
And in such an hour as you think not 

He will come." 

So I am watching quietly 

Every day. 
Whenever the sun shines brightly, 

I rise and say : 
" Surely it is the shining of His face ! " 
And look unto the gates of His high place 

Beyond the sea ; 
For I know He is conaing shortly 

To summon me. 
And when a shadow falls across the window 

Of my room, 
Wliere I am working my appointed task, 
I lift my head to watch the door, and ask 

If He is come ; 
And the angel answers sweetly 

In my home : 
" Only a few more shadows, 

And he will come." 



THE BURIAL OF MOSES. 

• 

By Nebo's lonely mountain, 

On this side Jordan's wave, 
In a vale in the land of Moab, 

There lies a lonely grave ; 
And no man dug that sepulchre, 

And no man saw it e'er, 
For the " Sons of God " upturned the sod, 

An'd laid the dead man there. 



THE SVNDA1 SCHOOL SPEAKER. 167 

That was the grandest funeral 

That ever passed on earth ; 
But no man heard the tramping, 

Or saw the train go forth. 
Noiselessly as the daylight 

Comes when the night is done, 
And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek 

Grows into the great sun, — 

Noiselessly as the spring-time 

Her crown of verdure weaves, 
And all the. trees on all the hills 

Open their thousand leaves ; 
So, without sound of music, 

Or voice of them that wept, 
Silently down from the mountain's crown 

The great procession swept. 

Perchance the bald old eagle, 

On gray Beth-peor's height, 
Out of his rocky eyrie 

Looked on the wondrous sight ; 
Perchance the lion, stalking, 

Still shuns that hallowed spot; 
For beast and bird have seen and heard 

That which man knoweth not. 

But when the warrior dieth, ■ 

His comrades in the war, 
With arms reversed, and muffled drum, 

Follow the funeral car. 
They show the banners taken, 

They tell his battles won, 
And after him lead his masterless steed, 

While peals the minute-gun. 

Amidst the noblest of the land 
Men lay the sage to rest, 



168 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER, 

And give the bard an honored place, 

With costly marble drest, 
In the great minster transept, 

Where lights, like glories, fall, 
And the sweet choir sings, and the organ rings 

Along the emblazoned wall. 

This was the bravest warrior 

That ever buckled sword ; 
This the most gifted poet 

That ever breathed a word ; 
And never earth's philosopher 

Traced with his golden pen, 
On the deathless page, truths half so sage 

As he wrote down for men. + 

And had he not high honor ? — 

The hill-side" for his pall, 
To lie in state while angels wait, 

With stars for tapers tall, 
And the dark rock-pines like tossing plumes 

Over his bier to wave, 
And God's own hand, in that lonely land, 

To lay him in the grave ! 

In that deep grave without a name, 

Whence his uncoffined clay 
Shall break again, — most wondrous thought ! — 

Before the judgment-day, 
And stand, with glory wrapped around, 

On the hills he never trod, 
And speak of the strife that won our life 

With the Incarnate Son of God. 

Oh, lonely tomb in Moab's land ! 

Oh, dark Beth-peor hill ! 
Speak to these curious hearts of ours, 

And teach them to be still. 



THE SUXDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 169 

God hath his mysteries of grace, 

Ways that we cannot tell ; 
He hides them deep, like the secret sleep 

Of him he loved so well. 



THE SLEEP. 

" He giveth his beloved sleep." — Psalm cxxvii.*2. 

I. 

Of all the thoughts of God, that are 
Borne inward unto souls afar, 
Along the Psalmist's music deep, 
INow tell me, if there any is, 
For gift or grace, surpassing this, — 
"He givetlfhis beloved sleep" ? 

II. 

What would we give to our beloved ? 
The hero's heart, to be unmoved,. 
The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep, 
The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse, 
The monarch's crown, to light the brows? 
" He giveth his beloved sleep." 

in. 

What do we give to our beloved ? — 

A 'little faith, all undisproved, 

A little dust, to overweep, 

And bitter memories to make 

The whole earth blasted for our sake. 

"He giveth his beloved ^leep." 

# 
" Sleep soft, beloved ! " we sometimes say, 
But have no tune to charm awav 



170 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

Sad dreams, that through the eyelids creep ; 
But never doleful dream again 
Shall break the happy slumber, when 
" He giveth his beloved sleep." 



O earth, so full of dreary noises ! 
O men, with wailing in your voices! 
O delved gold, the wailers heap ! 

strife, O curse, that o'er it fall ! 
God makes a silence through you all, 
And " giveth his beloved sleep." 

VI. 

His dews drop muftly on the hill, 
His cloud above it saileth still, # 
Though on its slope men sow and reap. 
More softly than the dew is shed, 
Or cloud is floated overhead, 
" He giveth his beloved sleep." % 

VII. 

Yea ! men may wonder, while they scan 
A living, thinking, feeling man, 
Confirmed in such a rest to keep ; 
J$ut angels say, — and through the word 

1 think their happy smile is heard, — 
" He giveth his beloved sleep." 

VIII. 

For me, my heart, that erst did go 
Most like a tired child at a show, 
That sees through tears the juggler's leap,- 
Would now its wearied vision close, * 
Would, childlike, on His love repose, 
Who " giveth his beloved sleep." 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 171 

IX. 

And, friends, dear friends, — when it shall be 

That this low breath is gone from me, 

And round my bier ye come to weep, 

Let one, most loving of you all, 

Say, " Not a tear must o'er her fall, — 

He giveth his beloved sleep." 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 



PERPETUAL ADORATION. 

The turf shall be my fragrant shrine ; 
My temple, Lord, that arch of thine ; 
My censer's breath the mountain airs, 
And silent thoughts my only prayers. 

My choir shall be the moonlit waves, 
When murmuring homeward to their caves ; 
Or when the stillness of the sea, 
Even more than music, breathes of thee. 

ril seek, by day, some glade unknown, 
All light and silence, like thy throne ; 
And the pale stars shall be, at night, 
The only eyes that watch my rite. 

Thy heaven, on which 'tis bliss to look, 
Shall be my pure and shining book, 
Where I shall read, in words of flame, 
The glories of thy wondrous name. 

ril read thy anger in the rack, 

That clouds awhile the day-beam's track ! 

Thy mercy in the azure hue 

Of sunny brightness breaking through. 



172 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

There's nothing bright above, below, 
From flowers that bloom, to stars that glow, 
But in its light my soul can see 
Some feature of thy Deity ! 

There's nothing dark below, above, 
But in its gloom I trace thy love ; 
And meekly wait that moment, when 
Thy touch shall turn, all bright again. 

Thomas Moore. 



THE WATCHER ON THE TOWER. 

[This piece can be read or spoken by one person, or used as a dialogue.] 

" What dost thou see, lone watcher on the tower? 
Is the day breaking? comes the wished-for-hour? 
Tell us the signs, and stretch abroad thy hand, 
If the bright morning dawns upon the land." 

" The stars are clear above me, scarcely one 
lias dimmed its rays in reverence to the sun ; 
But yet I see, on the horizon's verge, 
Some fair, faint streaks, as if the light would surge." 

" And is that all, O watcher on the tower? 
Look forth again ; it must be near the hour. 
Dost thou not see the snowy mountain copes, 
" And the green woods beneath them on the slopes ? " 

" A mist envelopes them ; I cannot trace 
Their outline ; but the day comes on apace. 
The clouds roll up in gold and amber flakes, 
And all the stars grow dim. The morning breaks." 

44 We thank thee, lonely watcher on the tower; 
But look again ; and tell us, hour by hour, 
All thou beholdest ; many of us die 
Ere the day comes ; oh, give them a reply ! " 



THE^ SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 173 

" I hope, but cannot tell. I hear a song, 
Vivid as day itself, and clear and strong, 
As of a lark — young prophet of the noon — 
Pouring in sunlight his seraphic tune." 

" What doth he say, — O watcher on the tower? 
Is he a prophet? Doth the dawning hour 
Inspire his music ? Is his chant sublime, 
Filled with the glories of the future time ? " 

" He prophesies ; — his heart is full ; — his lay 
Tel is of the brightness of a peaceful day, — 
A day not cloudless, nor devoid of storm, 
But sunny for the most, and clear and warm." 

" We thank thee, watcher on the lonely tower, 
For all thou tellest. Sings he of an hour 
When Error shall decay, and Truth grow strong, 
And Right shall rule supreme, and vanquish Wrong ? " 

" He sings of brotherhood, and joy, and peace, 
Of days when jealousies and hate shall cease ; 
When war shall die, and man's progressive mind 
Soar as unfettered as its God designed." 

" Well done ! thou watcher on the lonely tower ! 
Is the day breaking ? dawns the happy hour ? 
We pine to see it ; tell us yet again, 
If the broad daylight breaks upon the plain ? " 

" It breaks — it comes — the misty shadows fly : — 
A rosy radiance gleams upon the sky ; 
The mountain-tops reflect it, calm and clear ; 
The plain is yet in shade, but day is near." 

Charles Mackay. 



174 , THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 



THE CHILD AND THE MOURNERS. 

A little child, beneath a tree, 

Sat, and chanted cheerily 

A little song, a pleasant song, 

Which was — she sang it all day long — 

" When the wind blows the blossoms fall, 

But a good God reigns over all." 

There passed a lady by the way, 
Moaning in the face of day ; 
There were tears upon her cheek, 
Grief in her heart, too great to speak ; 
Her husband died but yesteruiorn, 
And left her in the world forlorn. 

She stopped and listened to the child 

That looked to heaven, and, singing, smiled; 

And saw not, for her own despair, 

Another lady, young and fair, 

Who, also passing, stopped to hear 

The infant's anthem, ringing clear. 

For she, but few sad days before, 

Had lost the little babe she bore ; 

And grief was heavy at her soul 

As that sweet memory o'er her stole, 

And* showed how bright had been the past, 

The present drear and overcast. 

And as they stood beneath the tree, 
Listening, soothed and placidly, 
A youth came by, whose sunken eyes 
Spake of a load of miseries ; 
And he, arrested like the twain, 
Stopped to listen to the strain. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 175 

Death had bowed the youthful head 
Of his bride .beloved, of his bride unwed; 
Her marriage robes were fitted on, 
Her fair, young face with blushes shone, 
When the destroyer smote her low, 
And changed the lover's bliss to woe. 

And these three listened to the song, — 
Silver- toned, and sweet, and strong, — 
Which that child, the livelong- day, 
Chanted to itself in play, — 
" When the wind blows, the blossoms fall, 
But a good God reigns over all." 

The widow's lips impulsive moved ; 
The mother's grief, though unreproved, 
Softened, as her trembling tongue 
Repeated what the infant sung ; 
And the sad lover, with a start, 
Conned it over in his heart. 



And though the child — if child it were, 
And not a seraph sitting there — 
Was seen no more, the sorrowing three 
Went on their way, resignedly, 
The song still ringing in their ears. 
Was it music from the spheres ? 

Who shall tell ? They did not know ; 
But in the midst of deepest woe 
The strain recurred when sorrow grew ; 
To warn them, and console them, too, — 
"When the wind blows, the blossoms fall, 
Bat a good God reigns over all." 

Charles Mackay. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 



ON THE DEATH OF A TEACHER. 

[To be recited at an annual festival, when a teacher has died during the 
preceding year. It can be altered to suit other occasions, by omitting or 
altering parts of it. If any one of the school should be very sick, and 
flowers be seni them, the last three verses may be used; otherwise, they 
must be omitted.] 

I. 

We are not all here ; there is more than one 

That I miss from our little band ; 
I would they were here with their presence to cheer, 

And receive a warm grasp of the hand ; 
But some have wandered away from home, 

Though with us in spirit now, — 
We will think of them, as the evening wanes, 

With a thoughtful heart and brow. 

We are not all here ; there is one, we know, 
That has strayed from our earthly fold, — 
One voice is hushed that we used to hear, 
And the grass grows green o'er the quiet grave 
Where they laid her low in the mould. 

Perchance from her home in the unseen land, 

Where her spirit has taken flight, 
She is looking down on our little band 

As we meet this summer night ; 
We may not know, for our earthly sight 

Is dark, and doubtful, and drear, — 
But we will not part till in every heart 

There has risen a thought of her. 

II. 

We are not all here ; there is one that lies 

On a bed of sickness and pain, 
But we trust that the merciful Father of all 

Will raise him up again ; 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. Ill 

That the balmy breath of this summer day- 
May kindle new light in his eye ; 

And the Angel of Death, as he speeds on his way, 
May pass our dear friend by. 

But if to the land where is no more pain, 

His spirit shall wing its flight, 
Our grief will breathe an odor £s sweet 

As the flowers that we send him to-night. 



PRESENTATION* OF A VASE OF ROSES. 

[To be recited by one of three little girls, who advance together to the Pastor, 
bearing the gift.] 

" Dear pastor, from our grateful hands 

A simple token take, — 
This little vase of summer flowers, — 

Oh, prize it for our sake ! 

" And let it say to you each day, 

Better than words may tell, 
The reverent love we feel for Him 
Who loves the children well. # 

44 Oh, be our guide through years to come, 

And lead our willing feet 
Along the road whose windings end 

Where all God's children meet." 

S. S. Gazette. 



THE BITTER CUP SWEET. 

My God once mixed a harsh cup, for me to drink from it, 
And it was full of acrid bitterness intensest ; 

The black and nauseating draught did make me shrink 
from it, 
And cry, " O thou, who every draught alike dispensest, 



178 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 

This cup of anguish sore, bid me not to quaff of it, 
Or pour away the dregs and the deadliest half of it ! " 
But still the cup he held ; and seeing he ordained it, 
One glance at him, — it turned to sweetness as I drained it. 

W. B. Alger. 



THE FIRST CONCERT IN A NEW CHURCH. 

Dear friends, we greet you, one and all, 

Who by your interest and your aid, 
And sacrifices few nor small, 

For us this beauteous church have made, 

Where we can meet and worship God, 

Improve our minds in Scripture lore, 
Follow the path that Christ hath trod, 

Seek his example evermore. 

None to molest or make afraid ! 

How different from the days of old, 
When mountains, woods, and caves were made 

Theitemples for the gathering fold ! 

Let us a steadfast course pursue, 

Improve each moment as it flies, 
From day to day our thanks renew 

To Him who rules earth, seas, and skies. 

Good-will to all, to all be peace ; 

Sectarian strife, far be it hence ; 
To all their faith, their rights release, — 

Charity, our wall and our defence. 

To pastors, teachers, all, our thanks, — 

To all who love the Golden Rule, 
And bound with us to Jordan's banks, 

Welcome to concert, church, and school. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 179 

ON PRESENTING A TEACHER WITH ANY 

GIFT. 

Dear teacher, your pupils would thank you to-day 
For all your kind labors our minds to improve ; 

And, though we well know we can never repay, 
Be pleased to accept this small token of love. 

We hope to your mind it may often recall 

The hours that we here have so pleasantly passed, 

And trust that your teachings will be y by us all, 
Remembered and practised while days and weeks last. 



GONE. 



Another hand is beckoning us, 

Another c|ill is given ; 
And glows once more with angel steps 

The path which reaches heaven. 

Oh, half we^eemed she needed not 
The changing of her sphere, 

To give to heaven a Shining One, 
Who walked an Angel here. 

Alone unto our Father's will 
One thought hath reconciled, — 

That he whose love exceedeth ours 
Hath taken home his child. 

Fold her, O Father ! in thine arms, 

And let her henceforth be 
A messenger of love, between 

Our human hearts and thee. 
12 



180 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER, 

Still let her mild rebuking stand 

Between us and the wrong, 
And her dear memory serve to make 

Our faith in goodness strong. 

John G. Whittier. 



ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG SCHOOLMATE. 

I've heard and read of spirits bright who hover o'er our 

sphere, 
To cull the choicest buds that bloom in radiant lustre here ; 
One winged its way through realms of love on sunbeams light 

and even, 
And said, while bending o'er the child, " One anger more in 

heaven." 



Yes, fold the graceful, golden curls, the last time round its 

brow; 
No more a mother's fond caress will bliss^r fate allow ; 
No more those little lips can feel the good-night kiss of love, 
One rose has withered in its youth, — " One angel more 

above." 



Yet weep not, though this tiny frame, once warm, is cold and 

still, 
Remembering, with an humble faith, it is God's holy will. 
Although our hearts are now so sad, by grief and sorrow 

riven, 
We hope, when all on earth is o'er, "More angels are in 

heaven." 



THE SUNDAY SOHOOL SPEAKER. 181 



EXHIBITION HYMN. 

[The following hymn is to be sung by a class, or the wkole school. — Tune, 
" Oft in the Stilly Night."] 

On this bright, festive day, 

Father, before thee bending, 
We raise our grateful lay, 

For thou art kindly sending m 

Thy truth and love, 
From heaven above, 
To bless thy children ever ! 
Oh, may we still 
Obey thy will, 
And wander from thee never ! 

Thus may we ever live, 
In truth and love abounding ! 

To thee all glory give, 
Thy praise forever sounding ! 

And when our fleeting day 

Amid these scenes is ended, 
The pageant passed away, 
And life with death is blended, 
Oh, may these hours 
Like fragrant flowers, 
As incense pure ascending, 
Bid us rejoice, 
With heart and voice, 
In raptures never ending ! 
Thus may we ever live, 
In truth and love abounding,. 

To God all glorj- give, 
His praise forever sounding ! 

William T. Adonis {Oliver Optic). 



Books for Srtaf-Scliool Libraries, 

That will be read over and over again. 



MAGGED DICK SERIES. 

By HORATIO ALGER, Jr. 
[To be completed in six Books.] 

I. RAGGED DICK ; or, Street Life in New York with the Boot- 
Blacks. 4 Illustrations. Cloth. Price $1.25. 

II. FAMfi AND FORTUNE; or, The Progress of Richard Hunter. 

4 Illustrations. Cloth. Price $1.25. 

III. MARK, THE MATCH BOY; or, Richard Hunter's Ward. 4 

Illustrations. Cloth. Price $1.25. 

IV. ROUGH AND READY; or, Life Among the New York News- 

Boys. [In December, 1869.] 

The series is intended to illustrate " the life and experiences of the friend- 
less and vagrant children who are now numbered by thousands in New 
York and other cities. " So large a portion of the community cannot fail to 
have something of that human experience which strikes an answering sym- 
pathy in our hearts. 

Their privations and compensations, their characters, the romance hidden 
in their obscure lives, have found an earnest and able exponent. 



RAGGED DICK 

is a shrewd New. York boy, keen, humorous, and possessed of a noble 
nature, but bred in the streets, — a diamond in the rough, — a " Profes- 
sional," he would call himself; in plain English, a boot-black. 

Left to take care of himself at the age of seven, we find him some years 
latern either very good, nor yet very bad, but containing the germs of the 
highest manhood. 

Sleeping at night in empty boxes or secluded doorways, astir with the . 
dawn, plying his trade just below the " Astor House," on Broadway, suc- 
cessful because energetic, generous to a fault, befriending other less fortu- 
nate boys, despising and above all meanness and petty vices, squandering 
his earnings, — in dress true to his name, " Ragged Dick." 

Asa guide to the city sights from Brooklyn Ferry to Central Park, to a 
well-bred country lad, we are first introduced to him. His descriptions of 
persons and things is inimitable, full of fun, as every boy will say who has 
ever been over the same ground. The influence of this superior boy first 
arouse:! in Dick a desire to turn over a new leaf and try to be " 'spectacle." 
How he did it,*how he learned to read and write, and became no longer 
" Ragged Dick," but Richard Hunter, is told in the most attractive manner. 

His hatred of all mean vices, his drdllery, his language, his ambition, his 
impulsive generosity and self-sacrifice, all stand out clear to the mind, as a 
picture to the eye; ana we follow his progress with the keenest sympathy. 
We long to know more of a character so noble, so whimsical, so full of 
energy. 

1 



FAME AND FORTUNE; 

Or, THE PROGRESS OF RICHARD HUNTER. 



We predict for this the largest sale of any book. If you wish your boys aud 
girls to be incited to noble endeavor and the highest ambition, put into 
their hands these two books, written by one of the most fascinating authors 
of juvenile literature. Yet these books are too well written, and of too 
lively an interest, to be classed among "juveniles." The mothers say to us, 
" The children read aud re-read ' Ragged Dick,' and so did I. It is a story 
one never gets tired of." We possess a copy of it which has gone the rpunds 
of " our village,'' and it was the older people, as often as the young, who 
said, " When ' Fame and Fortune ' comes out, be sure and send it to me." 



MARK, THE MATCH BOY; 

Or, RICHARD HUNTER'S WARD. 

" The author of the ' Bagged Dick Series " has been even more successful 
than Greenwood, in London, in depicting the street life of the great city. 
His sketches of the little Arabs of our streets are very life-like and effective, 
and there is a pathos in some of his descriptions that goes directly to the 
heart. The author has the merit of awakening the reader's interest while 
enforcing a moral; and no more useful books could be placed in the hands 
of children than these." — N* Y. Evening Post. 

We know of no story books for boys, since " Robinson Crusoe," and 
" Swiss Family Robinson," so peculiarly adapted to boy nature as these of 
Horatio Alger, Jr. 

They are first-class books. 

The author appeals to the love of adventure so innate in every boy's 
heart. 

He uses the phraseology of boyhood,- and, bty ajge-aling to* a code of 
morals well understood by his readers, inculcates nobility of character, self- 
respect, and a praiseworthy ambition. 

2 



THE BREAKWATER SERIES. 

By VIRGINIA F. TOWNSEND. 

Price, $1.00 per volume. 



JOANNA DARLING; 

Or, THE HOME AT BREAKWATER. 

This book is for children twelve years old and upwards. It shows a genial 
sympathy with the feelings of children, and points out to them the extent 
of their power to influence even older persons for good. 



THE BOY FROM BRAMLEY 

Tells the story of a little News-Boy, in a way that will win the heart of 
every boy of ten and upwards, and parents cannot read it with dry eyes. 



VERONICA; 

Or, THE LIGHTHOUSE KEEPER. 

This is one of the sweetest little stories you ever read. 

A little English girl falls asleep in a boat, and is drifted across the 
English Channel, where she is rescued by a French Lighthouse Keeper. 
Neither can understand the other, and it is a long time before she is found 
and restored to her early home, along with her shipwrecked father, both 
being given over as lost. 

The hymns of her childhood, the teachings of a Christian mother sus- 
tain her, and keep alive her home remembrance ; and the joy of all when 
they are restored to each other thrills the heart of every one. 



COUNTESS KATE. 

By MISS YONGE. 

The great reputation of this authoress gains for this a ready hearing. 
Foolish pride for rank without real worth is admirably contrasted, and the 
hard lesson taught that simplicity and merit must be learned and lived to 
command the love of all, both old and young. Every little miss must 
read it. 

THE BOYS AT CHEQUASSET; 

Or, A. LITTLE LEAVEN. 

This is one of the freshest books for boys written. 

It's a true picture of boy life, with his impulsiveness, his lack of order, 
and the perplexities it constantly leads him into. The mania for preserv- 
ing specimens of the various birds' eggs, and the consequent necessity of 
order, is the leaven which works the marvellous change in his whole 
nature, and produces a result which wins your heartiest admiration for 
him at the end of the book. Real boy nature has never before been so 
perfectly photographed. 

3 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



ii i i i/i i. 1 , * 

021 100 615 8 



FAITH GARTKEY'S UiJIIII 



By the Author of "Patience Strong's Ou'i'i> ." 
" Bovs at ChequAssi r. 

Handsome - in <_•' . ' U 



The Gayi 



a young ^Irl, 



Tiil;< charming It, for sob 

growing into womanhood, t > read. 

It depicts that bewitching period in life lying between f&urteen and twenty , 
with its noble aspirations and fresh enthusiasms. 

A lady of rare culture and wide experience says of it, — 

"Faith Gartney's Girlhood is a noble, good work, that could only 
been accomplished by an elevated mind, united to a chaste, tender heart, 
the lirst page to the last, the impression is received of a life which ha- 
lived ; the characters are genu * , we'! draw?, skilfully presented ; they are 
received at once with kind, friendly greeting, and followed with interest, tQl ne 
last page compels a reluctant farewell. 

'•The book is written for grids, growing as tin;/ grow, to womanhood.* The 
story has an interes far beyond that found in modern romances of the d:*>y t 
conveyed in pure, refined language; suggestive, pleasing thoughts, are unfolded on 
every page; the reflective and descriptive passages are natural, simple, and 
exquisitely finished. 

"In these days, when th ;f society is to educate girls for heartle3S, 

aimless, factitious Likt this is to oe welcomed and gratefully received. 

Wherever it is read, it will be retained as a thoughtful, suggestive — if silen — 
friend " 



PATIENCE STROWS OUTINGS. 



Bv the Author of "Fait GautkeiN <Jlf>LHOOi>/' 



Price, $1.50. 



"A peculiar and a r,.;-e book. The beautii. ejmpc iy and intuition which 
shone in her foimer publications, do not fail hrr in this. The ideas are of a deep 
sign* cance, av.<l are originally expressed. We do not remember any work similar 
to it in stylo. There is an in i Ine-s of phrase, whicli expres? ;i s 

far more t an smooth] we tan .vheu dc :• feeling mov^s 

< rvedly, wi , av rt'*> i *a< •.. .ere, treadiag v. : lb hesitation on such holy 
. for exprfef ^ < hich shall b forceful, yet, as far as possible, 

ed from sentimentality or ran!. 6he goes at once to the heart of life's 
deepest experiences, and, with a simplicity beautiful as ii is ra. <\ one's heart is 

I with the noblest impulses, and softened by the tender pathos of her 
th ihl'I. We need not recommend such a book. The author's name is recont* 
mentation enough." * 



